


Just What You're Worth

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: Never Never Never Stop for Anyone (Sheylinsonverse) [6]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Collars, Comeplay, Confined/Caged, Dissociation, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Eating Disorders, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Rimming, Size Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, sub!Drop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Week #6 of the Live Shows of X Factor series 9; heavily influenced by Union J's song choice, "Fix You."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just What You're Worth

**Author's Note:**

> **Character/Relationships** : Harry/Louis/George Shelley; references to Jaymi/Olly, bff!George/Ella, implied possible George/Jaymi.  
>  **Warnings** : Explicit sexual content (masturbation; slash [frottage, oral sex, penetrative sex, threesome, size!kink, unprotected sex, comeplay, overstimulation, rimming, fingering, felching, spit-roasting, mentions of DP]) and graphic sexual dialogue. Heavy D/s elements (voice command, orgasm control/denial, mentions of collaring, caging, ownership; no impact play, no breathplay). Possible sub!drop. _Heavy discussion and depiction of active ED_. Probably terrible Britpicking.  
>  **Disclaimer** : We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.

** Just What You're Worth **

It's been more than a week. Ten and half days, to be exact, since George has seen Harry and Louis.

He knows, logically, that it isn't possible to die from a lack of cock inside you, but it doesn't matter because he's _dying_ , and they're still in stupid America, and the only thing that's got him through this week is the bracelet still circling his left wrist.

He thinks he'd have gone mad without it, without the reminder that they might be somewhere else but he's still theirs. Sometimes George just touches it, just to feel the weight of it and the material beneath his fingertips.

They told him he's allowed to get himself off while they're gone, but he's not allowed to have anyone else do it for him. It's fair, and he wouldn't have, anyway, but it doesn't mean he isn't aching for the feeling of something more than his own fingers inside him or wrapped around his dick.

Because the thing is, the thing is, that there is no fucking time to even do _that_ properly in this goddamn hotel. Either he's holed up in the shower afraid that the lads are going to break the door open like they always do to JJ, and he'd rather they not see certain things (even though, if he lets himself think about it -- in Vegas, they all saw it anyway, and that makes him a little itchy now) or they're being rushed off somewhere to do something, or he's just getting settled in bed about to start stroking himself a little through his pants and then someone in the other bed coughs or rolls over and he's reminded that nope. Not alone.

This time, though, this time George has planned it out perfectly. Jaymi's gone to get dinner with the other Js, and ordinarily George would want to come along just for fear of being left out, but instead he begged off, saying he was feeling a bit tired and wanted to lie down. Then it was just a matter of hanging the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, locking both the deadbolt and the keyed lock, and setting his phone to silent.

Not that they ever heed the Do Not Disturb sign, but maybe it will at least keep Rylan and Ella out.

_God, it had better keep Rylan and Ella out._

George strips off quickly, not wanting to spare even a single second. He's already sporting a semi in his boxers just from the buzz of anticipation. There's a moment once he's finally naked where he eyes the duvet wondering if he wants to get underneath it for an added security in case anyone manages to get past the door, but decides against it.

He wants to be able to see their bracelet while he's doing it. It's the only bit of them he's got right now.

It's not like he hasn't spoken to them, but they're nine hours behind him and busy and _they're together_. Which is fine. Yesterday Louis picked out George's outfits for the entire week via text message, and that makes George feel warm and pleased. But it's still not the same as touching or kissing or fucking. George almost put that plug in yesterday, just for want of something he could really _feel_.

He didn't, in the end, because they were doing things all day and he didn't want to end up stuck again like he did last time, desperately horny and no way to deal with it.

Of course, now he's desperately horny and has nothing but his own hands to work with. You live and you learn.

His skin feels hot all over, like he's blushing but everywhere and when he strokes light fingertips down his chest, his stomach muscles all tighten at once. Okay, so he's _really_ horny.

It wouldn't be so bad if Harry hadn't texted him, _fucked louis so hard you can probably see it when he's walking :)))))) we're on telly tonight! .x_

But he did.

And now George nearly gasps aloud when he touches his cock, thickening quickly even though he's barely done anything yet. Normally, he likes to tease himself a bit more, make himself chase his orgasm, but he doesn't have the time or the patience now.

He strokes up once, carefully, his grip slack enough that he can fuck his hips up into it but he can still feel the friction.

It isn't like fucking Louis at all, and he's properly jealous of Harry, if he's honest.

Louis is tight, and hot, and gorgeous, and George misses the way his firm little body looks while he's letting George fuck him. He misses the way Louis makes sounds, quiet and strained like he just can't keep them inside because George is doing such a good job of fucking them out of him. It's been goddamn ages since George got to fuck Louis. The last time he'd been fucked instead, and that was nice, too, but he wants -- honestly, he wants to prove that he can do it as well as Harry can. Make it hard for Louis to walk the next day.

George lets out a shuddering breath and palms over the head of his dick. There's enough pre-come there that it feels damp, but not enough to make it slick when he slides his hand back down over his shaft. He likes it a bit rough, thinks about licking his palm to ease the way but he wants to feel this one in his _bones_.

The beads of his bracelet bump up against his skin on the downstroke, and are cold and make him gasp when they touch near the base of his cock. He wishes he could get a better grip on himself, but using his left hand means he's got to make some sacrifices. The beads stand out against the skin of his thigh, paler than anywhere else on him. He squeezes a little and twists his hand as he strokes up again, and then slowly back down.

It's better than it usually is when he's tried it lefty. It's probably the collaring bracelet around his wrist to remind him that it's only temporary, being alone. It is. They'll be back in London soon.

With his other hand, he fumbles into his bedside drawer. He should've gotten everything prepared beforehand but he'd been in a rush, and the tube is right there anyway. It's a chore to take his hand away from his cock to squeeze some onto his fingers, but he wants it, wants _something_ inside if he can't have them.

(He's jealous of Louis, too. George hasn't had Harry's cock all that many times, but he _wants_ it constantly. He wants what they keep teasing with -- just being a kept boy at their beck and call, always ready and willing to get Harry inside him.) He hopes that maybe -- someday -- they'll follow through, and keep him in a cage or on his hands and knees with a plug in him all the time keeping him stretched for them, or his mouth ready to suck on one of them. He doesn't let himself think about it often, but he figures it's a fantasy, and you're _supposed_ to fantasize while you're jerking off.

He pictures it, while he circles a finger over himself and waits to relax enough to slip the tip of one inside: it's not enough, and the angle's not going to be perfect, but it's something. He bites his lip hard enough to sting and breathes out through his teeth as he wriggles his hips down a little.

The wrong angle is nice, hurts a little, like taking Harry does. George bites his lip and if he thinks hard enough, it's like Harry's tucking fingers into him instead, just enough to check that George is being good and ready to take his cock.

He holds on to that image and rocks his finger in all the way, slipping it out and adding a second, knowing he's not quite ready for it but wanting the burn. He can't hold back a noise this time, a low, breathy groan.

He wonders how many times they could take him if they had all day. If he were naked in Harry's big house for a whole day, following them around on his hands and knees with his arse in the air to remind them they could get at it whenever they fancied.

Maybe he could suck them off while they were watching telly, just a hand in his hair and a cock in his mouth and absent murmurs telling him he's doing a good job. Or he could lie over that cushioned sofa arm again, and wait for someone to decide they're up for another round.

He shivers at that, crooking two fingers inside himself and twisting the hand jerking down his dick.

There's sweat on his brow and down his chest now; he can feel it in the cool coming from the air conditioner. It feels like it's been forever instead of just a week, and he can feel it building inside him, the heat curling in his belly sweet and urgent.

Maybe they'd fill him up so much that it would leak down onto his thigh, like the last time he'd seen them. Louis was right: it was weird, but it was _good_ , and now he wants more of it.

George gasps and twists his fingers inside himself just right, holding his cock so that he spills over his own stomach, his toes curling with the force of it. It's been so long that it feels like it goes on forever, and he can feel it everywhere, in his muscles and his bones and his skin.

It still doesn't feel like enough, though, once the aftershocks fizzle away. Harry and Louis wouldn't stop at just making him come once so -- so maybe he shouldn't, either; make it go until it hurts a bit and there are tears in his eyes.

He slides his palm along the slick on his stomach, knowing that if he's going to do this, he'll need to be a bit gentler. Even his fingers still inside edges on too much, but a good too-much, like when Louis keeps touching him even after he's come.

They're good like that, Louis and Harry. Harry is rough and big and makes George _take_ while Louis is too-gentle and small and gives until George can't take more. 

His prick is already fattening up again, slowly, a bit shy. George touches himself with a careful fingertip and shivers, but wraps his hand around it anyway.

Sometimes, sometimes, before Harry and Louis, when George would go with people and get fucked, he wouldn't even come once. But they always make him come over and over and he's never been _into_ that, exactly, like -- playing with it after, or even keeping it on his skin -- but the way it makes Harry's eyes light up has changed his mind.

A lot about Harry has made George want things he never did before. He's never thought about being fucked by a cock the size of his forearm, or being tied up, and he's always thought anyone who got a tattoo for someone they're dating must be out of their mind.

He loves Harry's, though. He always expects the skin of them to feel different than the rest of Harry does, but it doesn't, still just soft and smooth and radiating warmth.

He feels a little jittery as he strokes himself, and he wants to take his hand away because it's too much too soon but it's also just what he needs. He whimpers and tries -- well, it's worth a try -- rolling the beads of the bracelet just gently over the head of his dick.

And _oh_.

That's new. That's very, very -- new.

They're still cold even though he's warm, and they don't feel like fingers or like a cock or like anything George has ever had on his dick before.

It's -- not exactly good-different, but it's good-different that there _is_ anything new, because that's part of what he likes about Harry and Louis. Everything they do feels new even when it isn't.

George does it again, just to feel, and it's still weird, but still new, and he closes his eyes, curling his fingers inside himself and doing it one more time, the black beads sliding slowly over his cockhead.

It definitely won't make him come, but it's -- well, it's something from Louis and Harry, and they put it on him, so. It's good for a bit.

And he needs a bit, because he's not getting instantly hard, like he did before. The first orgasm's made him a bit sluggish, and he's _getting_ there, but it's taking longer than he'd like. He thinks, absently, that he might run out of time, and then he'll be on edge all day.

George doesn't even think he'd mind that, feeling so close and then having to stop. He'd probably text Harry or Louis and tell them about it, about how he's so so hard and he can't come, and he's thinking about them, and he misses them so much and he wants them to come _back_ \--

Well, maybe not that last bit. That wouldn't fit in one text.

And ah, yeah, no more wooden beads over his cock right now, that's too much. But now his hand feels softer, in comparison, and that's interesting.

He can still feel his calluses, where he's got them from playing guitar, bits of rough around the edges where the rest of his hands are still soft. George wonders whether he'll ever know Harry- and Louis' hands as well as he knows his own. He suspects that's how they are for each other now, anyway.

He doesn't think he could ever get bored of Harry's hands, though. Doesn't think anyone could.

Harry has such long fingers, longer than his own and they feel longer when they're inside George, curling and twisting and fucking into him until he feels on fire with _want_. His hands are so big that they cover all of George's arse, and circle his wrists, and he can ruffle almost all of George's hair at once.

George sucks at his lower lip -- bites it a little -- just wants something in his mouth, and there's nothing, because he only has two hands anyway and now he suddenly can't really remember what it was like to have sex with only one person at a time. That's maybe a little weird, but it makes him smile and shiver and sigh and there, he's finally hard again and ready to go.

He doesn't think he could go back to just one, not after Harry and Louis. He doesn't think he could go back to anything. He wants them to keep him forever, his cock and his mouth and his arse and all the rest of him just theirs to do with what they want.

They can bring him on tour with them. He'll just stay in a little carrier, like a cat. A little cage. They can keep him in a cage and touch him and pet him and fuck him and that's all he needs.

He squirms a little, writhing, can't keep still picturing that and how soft and warm-fuzzy it makes his brain just picturing it as he wanks off hard and fast and rough over his cock; the fingers inside him are mostly just curled right, pressing where he wants them, because he can't -- can't -- can't focus enough to get both both right now.

He has to brace his feet against the bed to fuck into his hand the way he wants, all the muscles in his legs going taut. He needs to come again, wants it so badly, as badly as he wishes they were watching him, to tell him how well he's doing.

This time when he comes, it's nearly dry, just a dribble and shivers and his throat hurts a bit from the sound that's ripped out of it. It's just as good they don't have to do anything later because he can already feel how raspy his voice is going to be until tomorrow. He likes the feeling of it, though, reminds him of when he took Harry's cock all the way down his throat.

George collapses back onto the bed, panting, and smiles a little as he remembers that. How pleased Harry was with him.

He still aches a little from how much he wants them back (and sort of hates America for getting to keep them so long) but it's duller now, faded. He aches in a different way, in the stretched rim of his hole when he slides his fingers out and in the tendons in his legs.

That's a good ache. That's the kind he likes.

He has half a mind to walk into the bedpost on his way to the shower, just to give himself a bruise, but that might be pushing the realm of sanity a bit.

Instead, he leans over to grab his shirt from the floor and wipe off. He wants to feel filthy for a moment longer, all dirtied up and thinking of them.

He's sort of warm and fluid and sleepy when he reaches for his mobile and taps out a text. _ur fingers r better then mine. coming home soon? xx_

The response doesn't come right away, but he isn't expecting for it to. It's nighttime there still, he thinks, or maybe it's not even night yet and it's still yesterday.

He wants them back for a lot of reasons, and his inability to understand America's time zones is a little one, but it is one all the same.

When he glances at the time on his own, George grumbles a bit in knowing that it's nearly time for everyone else to come back from dinner and he needs to shower or face awkward questions (both "why are you naked and hoarse?" and "why didn't you come down to eat?" are things he doesn't feel like answering).

He dumps his clothes in the vague hamper they've got going and grabs a new set, relishing the feeling between his legs. It's not much. Not enough. But still something.

The shower is hot and it's nice on his muscles. He scrubs down quickly, and washes his hair. There's a lot of it now, just like Harry said he should have.

When it's wet, though, there's sort of too much of it. It hangs down almost to his shoulders and despite what Ella thinks, George does not make a spectacularly pretty girl. Maybe he'll ask Harry if he can have it trimmed, just a little. Just enough that he can get it wet without feeling a bit like there's a small dog on his head.

That image makes him giggle a little, though, so maybe he won't.

There's a knock at the bathroom door. 

"George?" It's JJ. "Why are you laughing at yourself in the loo?"

"Definitely not the same reason you do, mate," George shoots back.

"Ah, fuck off."

"Our little baby-foot," George croons, then quickly shucks on the shirt and pants to open the door.

He shakes out his hair a little just to send water droplets flying at JJ before he grabs a towel to rub it down. It'll go all wild for a few minutes, but then it'll settle down. If all else fails, he's got about six beanies he can cover up with.

"Hey, Dermot's going to break us out for the night," Josh informs George before tossing a jacket at him. "Rylan has him wrapped around a little finger these days and we're all going to Buckingham Palace."

"Are you serious?" George laughs, pulling the jacket on. He's already a little cold after going from the heat of the shower to the cool room. "Sounds like a laugh."

It is. Chris and District 3 don't come, so it's just Union J and Ella and Rylan and James and Jahmene -- and Dermot of course -- the group that George likes best. Rylan's always fun and James is so effortlessly cool, and Jahmene does try hard even if he gets a bit stuttery at times. Dermot doesn't treat them like he's more important, or like they're children, in George and Ella's case.

(That's sort of a miracle, considering Ella keeps dive-bombing George's back for piggyback rides and Josh keeps stuffing leaves into Ella's hair.)

George has to rescue Ella six times, but it feels light-hearted, and joking, and he and Josh can smile at each other and it doesn't feel fake now. He's happy. Everything feels like it's falling into place, and he's happy.

He thinks that it's down to Harry and Louis; he really does. Maybe that's sad, or makes him pathetic, or makes him -- whatever, but knowing that he's wanted makes him... want to be around more.

 _Whatever_ it is, he's happy. He feels good and he's happy, and he thinks that's what really matters.

"What's with ya?" Rylan asks finally, after Ella and George have skipped around singing for a few minutes. "You're acting like a five-year-old on crack."

George grins at him and, on a whim, wraps his arms around Rylan's skinny waist. Rylan's so bloody tall that George's head is on his chest, but it's a pretty good hug. "Just happy," he answers after a moment.

Rylan pets George's damp hair a little. "Whoever's fucking you, can I do them? Only you're the happiest little twink I've ever seen." Then he pauses. "Unless it's Ella, in which case I'll kill ya."

" _I'd_ kill me," George says, aghast and his cheeks going pink. Apparently it's a little more obvious than he'd been hoping.

Rylan tugs on George's hair a bit. "Good. Now then, let's have it. Tell Uncle Rylan what's up? Or who's up ya?"

George reddens further. "Sorry, can't," he says apologetically. "Secret. If I told you, I'd have to kill you, that sort of thing."

Rylan's eyes narrow. It's very Blue Steel.

"Sorry!" George exclaims, giving Rylan a firm cuddle to apologize better. "I would if I could."

"I told ya all about shagging Chris Smalling."

"Yeah, but I didn't want to know about that," George points out. "You just sort of told everyone."

"Honesty's the best policy, an' all that," Rylan insists. "Come on, give us a name."

George goes pink. "I really can't, I'm sorry."

Rylan leans in. "Is it Dermot?"

"What?" George grimaces. "Ew, no!"

"He's a very good looking bloke!" Rylan says in defense. "I'd do him, if he offered."

"I'll leave you to him, then," George says, still pulling a face. It tastes a bit like there's bad egg in his mouth. No thank you.

"Can't I even have a hint? I'm good at secrets. Is it Josh, I've been thinking it might be." Rylan wriggles his eyebrows a little.

George's cheeks flush pink, because of course he _has_ let Josh fuck him, but that's not who he's fucking now. "No. It's not any of the J's."

"Well," Rylan says thoughtfully, "That takes out Josh, Jaymi, JJ, Jahmene, and James. Is it me?" He tilts his head. "I think I'd remember that, though, Gorgeous George."

"There's so many Js this season," George mumbles. "Jade, too. It wasn't Jade," he adds quickly, lest Rylan get any ideas.

"Well, no, I figured that one, only on account of your face," Rylan says. "No offense."

"Only a little taken." George frowns and rubs his chin. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, anyway. "Look, I really am sorry, but I can't tell you. They'd -- I, er."

" _They_ , eh?" Rylan's eyes light up. "Well, I know then. Good on ya. I'm well jealous; are you sure I can't have a go?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," George insists. That can't possibly have been enough to tell him who it is, can it?

Rylan just taps the side of his nose and winks at George before wandering away to fluster Jahmene.

George feels rather flustered himself, but dwelling on it will just make him feel all panicky and nervous, so he shoves the conversation into the back of his mind and wanders over to pick dried bits of leaf from Ella's hair. Josh had managed to score quite a few points while George was waylaid by Rylan, so there are enough bits of leaf in Ella's hair that by the time George has picked them all free ("Monkey George!" "Shove off.") the rest of the group have gone on back to the hotel.

It's a bit of an opportunity, actually. He hasn't been alone with Ella in _ages_ , never long enough to tell her about his new... accessory.

"Hi, you," she says, and rests her head on his shoulder. George twines his hand with Ella's and bumps his wrist up against hers.

"Hi," says George back, smiling to himself when she brings his their hands up to squint at his wrist.

"You never had this one before. Is it new?"

George's face flushes pink, and he bites his lip.

"Oh, what's that, then?" asks Ella, raising her eyebrows. "You've gone red. Oh, god, it's not some sort of -- sex -- _thing_ , is it?" Ella pulls her face back. "That isn't that -- it's not been in your bum, has it?"

"No, it hasn't been in my bum!" George grumbles, thinking guiltily about where it has been. All the spunk should've washed off in the shower. "Why's everyone assume everything's been in my bum?"

"You just have that look," Ella says. "Also, Jade's lotion was nearly gone when you returned it at the Bond premiere."

"That doesn't mean anything. I've got very dry hands." George frowns at her. "I like to stay moisturized."

Ella's mouth pinches. "I'm choosing to believe you not because I believe you, but because I'd just rather think that's true."

"I think that'll be best for all of us," agrees George. "Anyway, this hasn't been in my bum. It's -- I don't even know if I can call it a bracelet, is that demeaning it?" He makes a note to ask Harry and Louis about it later.

Ella blinks at him, and George just says it. He beams a little, because he's so proud he can't stand it anymore. "It's my collar."

The look Ella gets on her face is... not as enthused as George might want. "Your collar," she repeats flatly. "Your _collar_?"

George still feels tingly and flushed when he thinks about it, though, so he nods and says, "'Cause I'm theirs, officially."

"You've got a collar... because you're _theirs_ ," Ella says. She's just repeating him now, and it's really offputting.

George nods. "It's a good thing."

"If you're their _dog_ ," Ella says. "What, did they put a chip in your ear, too? Is their 'please return to' information on there? Do you 'answer to' George?"

George sighs, tightening his grip on Ella's hand and ducking his head so the words his mouth's making aren't visible to the people with cameras he can see in the distance.

"It's not, like, I thought that too," he mutters, shrugging. "It's not like I'm their pet. You're overreacting."

"You just told me they gave you a collar," Ella hisses, her features worried and a little bit angry. "What am I supposed to think, Georgie?"

"It's just what it's called, it's not what it _is_ ," George says. "It just means, means, like -- I'm theirs. Like their..."

"Property?" Ella asks. "Either you're their property or their pet, and I'm not keen on either."

"No, not like that, either." George knows what it sounds like, and maybe he should've tried to tell her a little more diplomatically, but it's too late for that now. "I'm just _theirs_. Like I belong to them, you know?"

"No, I don't know, because that sounds like slavery," Ella says.

"No," George groans. This isn't going at all how he wanted it to. He'd hoped Ella would be happy for him. "It's just like, you know, they're not here, and it's to show I'm still... I'm still with them, even when I'm not with them."

"Can't you just say, 'hey, I won't sleep with other people or do weird biting things with them and neither should you'?"

"Yeah, but it's like... Alright," George says, trying to come up with a parallel. "It's like, if someone gets engaged, and they have a ring that shows that they're planning on only being with that other person? Except we're not engaged. It's like a promise ring. Sort of."

"Then why not call it that?" Ella presses. "It's fishy that it's called a collar, it's like you're an animal."

"I am an animal, I'm a monkey." George sniffs haughtily. "I don't know why it's called a collar. Why's anything called anything?"

Ella frowns. "Look, I know I told you that I was looking things up, and are you -- you're sure it's not just so they can like, show you off in public and make you do things?" Ella looks a little bit queasy. "I just saw lots of photos of people on leashes."

"They couldn't even put me on a leash. It's not around my neck." George frowns. "They're never here. It's not like they could show me off anywhere, anyway." His mood drops a little, and he hooks a finger into the bracelet on his wrist to remind himself that they'll be back soon enough.

Ella still looks disgruntled. "And that. Like, they have each other when they're gone, and they've left you high and dry. That's unfair, too, isn't it?"

"It's not like they can help being superstars. I can handle it," George insists. "I've been handling it, haven't I? They've been gone and I haven't gone crazy, or anything."

"No, you haven't this time," Ella admits. "But it's still unfair they've left you to be lonely when they have each other."

George shrugs. "Maybe it's not," he says quietly. "It's better than I've ever had before, though. And I'm not lonely."

Ella still looks upset, so George squeezes her hand and lifts it up to kiss lightly. "I have you, don't I?"

"You've just written all their articles for them," Ella mutters, but she does look a little less disgruntled. "I still don't like this," she says bluntly. "It's too much like you're their pet and I don't like it."

"I'm sorry you don't like it," George says gently. "But I do."

"And I guess that's what matters," Ella agrees with a sigh. "I do want you to be happy. I just worry. You're so wrapped up in them and you really haven't known them so long."

"I've known them nearly two months now," George points out. "I just don't see them a lot."

"You see them maybe once a week, if that, and they'll be going on tour, and where's that leave you? I don't want you to get hurt." Ella squeezes his hand. "You've already been hurt so much and if they hurt you I really will kill them."

George doesn't want to think about how long they'll be on tour. He looked it up -- eight months out of twelve for 2013. That's a long time to be alone.

"George," Ella says softly, and George can't tell if it's pity or sympathy in her voice. Either way, he doesn't want it.

"It's fine," George says lightly. "They gave me the -- bracelet -- so I could remember that I'm cared about. So I won't be sad. That's good, isn't it?"

Ella looks a little less pinched when he doesn't call it a collar. "I suppose. You know you're cared about, though, right? Not just them, it's not only them who care about you. Me and the Js and -- You know we all care about you too, right?"

A month ago, George would have hesitated before answering, but today he doesn't have to. "Yeah, I know."

"Good." She looks, if not satisfied, at least calmer than she was. "I don't have a fancy -- bracelet thing, to give you, but it doesn't mean I don't love you to pieces."

George squeezes her hand again. "I love you to bits, too. And I already do everything you tell me to do; I don't need to reminder."

"Too right, you don't." Ella leans her head onto George's shoulder for a moment as they wait to cross the street. "You're really happy, though?" she says, more quietly. "Really, honestly happy?"

"Really, honestly, I'm happier than I've ever been," George promises.

"Good, then." She nudges his hip with her own. "See that you keep it that way."

George grins. "I will. I'm really good." He pauses. "Horny, though. They've already been gone a long time."

"Ugh!" Ella grunts, and elbows him in the kidney.

"Sorry!" George laughs, doubling over a little. "You've got sharp elbows, miss. You were the one who wanted to know details!"

"Not that sort!" Ella cries. "Unlike the internet, I have zero interest in what happens to your bum!"

"Nothing, that's the sad part!" George grins at her. "It's been _forever_ since anything interesting's happened to my bum."

Ella wriggles in George's grasp. "Don't touch me, ugh."

"I wish someone would touch _me_." George keeps a firm grip on her hand as they finally cross the road. "I'm dying. It's been so long. I think -- I think I might be ill from how long it's been."

"That isn't a thing," Ella sniffs. "I had to take hygiene like everyone else; you can't trick me into thinking I need to sleep with you to save your life."

"Damn, that's my plan foiled, then." George tugs on his bracelet again. "I'll just have to seduce Rylan now."

"He'd be up for it," Ella informs him. "He told me. You're third on his list after James and Jaymi."

"He did not!" exclaims George. He doesn't know whether to be flattered or horrified. He settles for a bit of both.

"He did," Ella insists. "We had a girly sleepover and he painted my nails and we talked about you."

"What about me?" George demands to know. "What did you say about me? Nothing about -- them, right?"

"No, no, no," Ella says. "Well, a little. Rylan's noticed that you always disappear for the night after they've been backstage, and he put two and two together, but all he figures is that you and Harry are double-teaming Louis. His words!" she adds hastily. "Not mine."

George's mouth opens and closes for a moment with nothing coming out. "Who would jump to that conclusion? Rylan," he mutters in answer to his own question. "Shit, has anyone else noticed? Has he told anyone? Please say he hasn't told anyone."

"He's probably told James, but James doesn't care about anything." Ella pets George's arm a little, soothingly. "Rylan's good at secrets; he really is."

"Nobody can find out. I can't ruin it for them." George is starting to feel itchy, and he takes his hand from Ella's to tuck two fingers between the bracelet and his wrist. "You're sure he won't tell anyone else?"

"I'm sure," Ella says. "Look, Rylan understands that not everyone is, you know, _him_ about their sexuality. He's a good guy."

"He is a good guy." George takes a deep breath in, and then out. "Okay. Okay, I'm alright, it's alright."

Then he pauses. "Wait, why did that even come up while Rylan was painting your nails?"

"Like Rylan would need a reason to be thinking about you and One Direction in bed together?" Ella snorts. "I'm surprised it hasn't come up before."

George sort of grunts at that.

They stop on the corner and look around. They've finally lost the tail of paparazzi who had been following them, but that doesn't mean that they're really gone -- they might just be hiding in windows or stairwells, waiting to get a kiss that will never come.

"Did you want to go back?" George asks.

"We probably should," says Ella reluctantly. "I'm not looking forward to going through those people again. We'll be missed if we don't get back soon, though, and I wanted to talk to Tulisa about my song."

"It's gonna be great," George reassures her. "It's a brilliant song choice."

"I hope so. I'm just, being the only girl left, it's a lot of pressure." She gives him a weak smile. "I don't want to let anyone down."

George's stomach twinges a little, and he imagines having to ring Louis and tell him that they've gone, and he'll be leaving London, and now he's just going to be a barista in Bristol again. "Yeah. I get that."

"I know you do." Ella pats George's back lightly. "You're going to be really good, though. I know how much this one means to you."

George smiles tightly and nods. They've turned back around and are heading to the Corinthia; Ella's hair keeps getting picked up by the wind this way and blown into George's face.

"Yeah," George says. "I just, I think I'm developing stage fright. I keep going out of tune."

"You'll be wonderful," Ella insists. "Your harmonies sound brilliant, and you weren't out of tune at all, last time I heard you."

" _Harmonies_." It's become George's least favorite word. He wrinkles his nose.

"I know you hate it, but they sound really good." Ella wrinkles her nose right back at him. "You're going to be amazing. Stop fretting about it."

George leans in and nuzzles their wrinkled noses together before Ella can snap at his and bite. "I hope you're right."

"I _am_ right." She grabs for his hand again. "Always. I'm always right. Remember that."

George laughs. "I feel like if I say yes, they'll become my famous last words. 'But Ella Henderson said she was always riiiiiiiiight!'"

Ella punches him in the arm. "Knowing you, your last words are going to be, 'Nobody's touched my bum in a week, I think I'm dying.'"

George's jaw drops in feigned offense at that, and he drops Ella's hand to shove her shoulder a bit and run off, racing her back to the hotel.

"Unfair!" she shouts from behind him. "I'm wearing heels!"

"And whose fault is that?" he calls back over his shoulder.

"The patriarchy!" Ella yells back, and then there's red hair sailing past George in a wave as Ella goes rocketing by in her stocking-feet, heels in hand.

George huffs at her and tries valiantly to catch up, but he's still not in the best of shape and by the time he reaches the hotel, he's nearly wheezing while Ella's just smoothing back her hair.

He topples over slightly as he goes to rest his hands on his knees, and Ella catches him, her smile melting. 

"Are you alright?"

George nods, breathing deeply. "Just a little dizzy."

Ella pauses. "Have you eaten?"

"Why does everyone mother me to death?" groans George, staying bent over until he thinks he can stand without falling.

Ella keeps her hands on him even after he's upright. "Because you don't eat anymore."

"I do so, why does everyone think that? Just because I'm not stuffing myself doesn't mean I'm not eating." George frowns, smoothing his hands down his shirt.

"What did you have for dinner?" Ella asks, fixing George's shirt all over again although he's just done it.

"We had to practice; I got something from one of the machines down the hall. See? I ate." George smiles at her.

"What was the something?" Ella pushes.

"Cheese and onion crisps." George sighs. "And a Mars Bar."

Ella levels him with a dry look. "If I told Louis right now that's all you'd eaten, would he be pleased with you?"

"He's not here right now, is he?" asks George in reply. "So why does it matter?"

"Because I have him on my BBM and he said to tell him if you're doing poorly," Ella says. "And because _I_ want you well. I need you here, Georgie, everyone else is twice my age and you're my best friend."

George sets his hands on Ella's shoulders and looks her in the eye. "I'm not doing poorly," he tells her quietly. "I'm fine. Look at me, I look healthy, don't I? I know how to take care of myself. I'm not a child."

Ella doesn't look impressed, but she pats his side anyway and says, "I know you're not a child. No one thinks you're a child. I just think you're -- harder on yourself than you need to be."

"People keep saying that," George mumbles. "I really don't think I am. It's not a bad thing to be disciplined, is it? I just like to do as well as I can."

Ella's brow knits. "Am I doing a bad job, then, because I had four pieces of pizza and a brownie sundae?"

"No," George exclaims, wide-eyed. "No, of course not, that's you, you're -- perfect, and beautiful, and that's different. People are different."

Ella keeps frowning. "You were beautiful and perfect when you got here in September, too, it's not like -- you didn't need to..." she trails off and looks uncomfortable.

"I'm not doing anything." George wraps his arms around her in a hug, setting his chin on her shoulder. "I promise. I'm exactly the same as I was in September."

Ella squeezes him in a tight hug and mutters, _my arms go around you more now_ , but she doesn't say anything more about telling Louis and Harry.

George smacks a kiss to her head and smiles. "You worry too much," he says quietly, before he leans back. "Did you want to find Tulisa, now?"

Ella shrugs, still hugging him tightly. "I should. I don't have very urban roots."

"Good thing your mentor does, then." George pets her hair, smiling to himself. "You're my best friend," he tells her in a soft voice.

Ella nods and smushes her face into his shoulder. " _Please_ eat so you can make it through the shows this weekend," she requests in a little voice. "I really need you to stay here."

Privately, George thinks they've got a better chance if he doesn't eat anything at all, to make sure he looks as skinny as possible. That will help them get votes, and they need votes. Sometimes he has to remind himself he doesn't look the way he used to. "Okay," he agrees, to make her happy. He wants Ella to always be happy. "Okay, I will."

"Thank you." Ella sounds so relieved that George wonders maybe he's doing it again, that bit where he doesn't see himself right that his mum and Harriet were on him about a few months ago.

He kisses her forehead. "Don't worry so much."

"I'll stop worrying when you stop doing worrisome things." She pokes him in the ribs. "And when you start taking care of yourself so I don't have to."

"But Louis and Harry take care of me," George says automatically, and then immediately cringes as it becomes obvious that it was entirely the wrong thing to say.

Ella's face goes all pinched and hard again. "Maybe they take care of your bum when they're here, but they're not here now, and you need to take care of yourself when they're not. Because they're not here a lot, and you're _always_ here, and you can't -- you can't just stop when they're not around."

George chews on the inside of his cheek, because Ella doesn't understand that if they come back from tour and he looks -- like he used to -- they won't _want_ him anymore and he -- he --

George takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and feels the bracelet around his wrist. He needs to bring himself back, bring himself _up_ , Harry calls it.

"George?" Ella sounds a little frightened. "George, are you alright? I didn't mean -- well, I _did_ mean, but -- George?"

"I'm fine," he says, and he's dizzy again, and _dammit_ maybe Ella was right. "I think maybe I am hungry. I can't decide. Might just get a coffee."

"Get food if you're hungry." Ella frowns fiercely at him, still obviously concerned. "Even if I can't come with you, I'll -- I'll tell _Jaymi_."

George feels pinched. "Fine."

"Don't you dare get all short with me, not about this." Ella looks like she's about to cry, but also a little like she might hit him. "Don't you dare."

"I'm not!" George knows he is. "Just -- go, you'll miss Tulisa. I'm just, I -- miss them, or something, I'm fine. I promise."

" _Eat something_." Ella slips her heels back on, one at a time, and she looks like she wants to say something else but sighs instead. "If I find out you haven't, I'll be cross. And I'll cry on you."

"No," George sighs. "If you cry, I'll cry."

"Good," says Ella firmly. "Then you'll eat something now, won't you?"

George hems. "Not a burger. Sick of burgers."

"It doesn't have to be a burger. It just has to be _something_." Ella tucks George's fringe back a little, even though it just falls over his forehead again. "Please."

He'll find some fruit, then, George thinks. There must be some in the bar area; they have a fruit salad on the menu, he's pretty sure. "Fine. I will, I promise. Just don't -- bug me about it."

"I'll bug you about it all I like." Ella frowns at him. "You can't tell me what to do. It only works the other way around."

George distracts her with a laugh at that. "There's isn't _anyone_ I get to tell what to do, is there?"

Ella takes the bait. "You could probably tell Rylan what to do. He'd do _whatever_ you wanted."

"That's good to know, except also not at all," George muses.

Ella pats his cheek gently, her thumb touching the bags beneath his eye. "Take care of yourself, and come for a cuddle later. I'll worry if you don't."

George likes cuddles. "I can do that," he says agreeably. "The usual time?"

Ella nods. Her eyes still look dark and troubled, so George leans in to kiss her cheek softly.

"I'm _okay_ ," he promises. "I'm happy. And look, I'm healthy, I've been going to the gym; I'm fine."

"I think the way you think of fine is different from the way the rest of us do," Ella says, but she kisses his cheek in return and then wipes at the smudge her lipstick's left. "Don't think I won't know if you've not eaten," she warns, checking the time on her phone. "I will know."

George believes her. He just nods, though, too honestly tired and a little lonely, even though she's still in his arms, to argue anymore.

"I'll see you later." Ella squeezes him once more before she backs off, dialing a number on her phone that might be Tulisa, but might not be. George isn't really sure.

She did say she might ring Louis. George swallows and blinks slowly, trying to process. If she's ringing Louis, then she might tell him that George only ate crisps and a Mars bar, and Louis won't be pleased with that at all.

George ought to find something more so that if Ella does tattle, George can make out like she was mistaken without having to lie to Louis himself. Fruit, he thinks decisively. Fruit is healthy and it'll probably fill him up enough that he won't feel quite so dizzy. He can have that fruit salad in the bar area, he's sure they've got some there.

Louis would probably try to make him eat something huge and hammy, he thinks, and feels a little queasy. Harry would understand. He's seen whole photo montages of Harry eating fruit.

It turns out that they _do_ have fruit salad in the bar area, and George munches on berries and oranges and grapes the whole way back up to his and Jaymi's room. He likes how fruit tastes, all light and tangy and sweet.

And this way, if Louis calls, he can tell the truth and say that he's been healthy _and_ taken care of himself. He's also quite proud that he was able to do the bench press down at the gym earlier, although he didn't have much weight on it. It's still better than where he was. They'll be pleased with him, he thinks assuredly as he opens the door to Union J's suite.

It's only Jaymi inside, lounging back on his bed and doing something on his phone, texting or tweeting or playing a game, or something.

"Hi," George greets, stabbing another piece of orange with his plastic fork.

"Hello, you," Jaymi answers. He glances up. "Good to see you eating."

George glowers. "Don't you start, too."

Jaymi raises his eyebrows a little at George's tone, and he feels a bit bad. "Sorry," he mutters, popping a berry into his mouth. "Just -- Ella's been at me about it, already."

"Good," Jaymi says. "You listen to Ella. Well, we all listen to Ella, I guess. That's the perk of being the last girl left."

"I think it's not so much because she's a girl and more because she's scary," replies George, crawling onto his own bed and setting the almost-empty container on his nightstand.

He sort of wants to hide with his head under the pillow for a while, and there's no reason not to, so he does.

Jaymi doesn't say anything for a moment, and when he speaks again, it's obviously muffled. "Are you alright?"

George nods under the pillow and trusts that the movement translates. "I'm fine."

"You really don't look fine." The bed dips down a little on the side and then there's a hand on his shoulder. "You can talk to me, you know. If you need someone to talk to."

He laughs a little. "I know I'm not in One Direction, but I'll do my best."

"I'm fine," George says, still buried beneath the pillow. "Ella just had a go at me and I'm lonely and frustrated."

"Poor Georgie." Jaymi rubs George's back, in broad, warm sweeps of his hand. "You miss them, don't you? Your boys?"

George hesitates before he nods, because he doesn't want Jaymi to yell at him today, too.

Jaymi doesn't yell, though, he just makes this sort of cooing sound and keeps rubbing his back. It feels nice, comforting. "Do you want a cuddle?"

George shrugs. "Not the same."

"Obviously not, no," agrees Jaymi. "Just thought it might help a bit. I like a cuddle when I get lonely."

George takes his head out from under the pillow, mainly because it was getting a little hard to breathe, but partially so he can blink up at Jaymi from beneath his mountain of fringe. He's beginning to seriously wonder when Harry will give him permission for a little haircut.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Jaymi looks like he understands, at least a little. "Not being around them. It's more than just physical."

George nods and rolls over so Jaymi can spoon up behind him. George is taller, but Jaymi is broader and makes George feel all wrapped up.

"Do you know when they're back?" Jaymi asks him, his arm curled around George's waist. "They're on the American X Factor in a while."

George shrugs. "Not sure. I think they have to tape something for Ellen Degeneres before they can come back." He sighs. "And maybe Simon will want to keep them, or maybe they'll go on holiday for a bit."

"I can't imagine how terrible it'd be to not even know when you'll be able to see them again." Jaymi sounds -- sad, maybe. "Have you talked to them since they left?"

George nods. "Yeah, every day. Just texts, mostly. I guess they're really busy, and then the time difference."

Jaymi makes another sympathetic sound. "You should call them when you can. Sometimes it helps -- just to hear their voices, I think it'd help a lot."

George nods. "Can hear them whenever I want, can't I? I just have to YouTube."

"It's not the same." Jaymi sounds certain. "They wouldn't be talking to _you_. And you're, George, I think sometimes you forget that people like you, if they don't tell you. It's not a bad thing, you just need a little more attention."

"I do like attention," George says, and cracks a tiny smile.

This seems to delight Jaymi. "There we are! There's little Georgie!" He tickles George.

George does love being tickled. He squirms a bit and laughs, unable to help himself. "You make me sound like a six-year-old!"

"You lend yourself to that!" Jaymi retorts. "You run around in a monkey one-piece looking for cuddles and tickles all the time!"

"Not _all_ the time!" George says. It really is most of the time. A worrying amount of the time. "My monkey onesie is comfortable! And who doesn't like cuddles?"

"Plenty of people," Jaymi says, still tickling George and bearing him down into the pillows. "Josh, for one."

"He does sometimes," George protests, batting at Jaymi's hands but without any force behind his movements. "After we were in the bottom two, he let JJ cuddle him for ages."

"Well, that's different. _You_ want cuddles _all_ the time."

George can't really shrug while he's lying down. "I like being touched. It makes me feel like people like me."

Jaymi frowns a little bit, and George doesn't want that at all, so he rolls over again and buries his face in the pillow.

"No, no," Jaymi coaxes, rubbing the back of George's neck. "Let's look at Jaymi, come on."

George grumbles and goes limp so that he's harder to turn over. 

"God, you're like trying to move a cat," Jaymi pants, yanking at George's shoulder. "Got your claws in."

"I'm not a cat, I'm a monkey," George mumbles, keeping his face against the pillow. It smells like clean linen, and reminds him of the way Harry always smells like soap and springtime.

"Fine, you're like trying to move an orangutan," Jaymi grunts. "They're the long-arm ones, right?"

"Yes. All monkeys have pretty long arms, though." George sighs and lets Jaymi move him, all-over exhausted and cripplingly lonely for a moment.

"D'you want to watch your boys on American telly?" Jaymi asks, "Or will that make you sadder?"

"Not sure." George frowns, and then nods. "Yeah, okay. It'll be nice to see them."

iPad in hand, Jaymi curves back over George's shoulder so they can both watch. "We can see them go crazy, crazy, crazy. And then you should ring them, after."

"They probably have popstar things to do after," George mumbles, fiddling with his bracelet. "They'll be busy."

"Well, you don't know unless you try." Jaymi's voice is gentle, and George nods.

He doesn't recognize any of the contestants on the show, and the two hosts are a little annoying, actually. He hopes it doesn't take too long for One Direction to come on.

"I think our show's better," Jaymi comments. "Even if they _do_ have Simon and Demi and Britney."

"I don't know who the fourth judge is," George asks. "Is that Randy Jackson?"

"No," Jaymi says, "But I don’t know either."

"Maybe they'll say his name later." George leans back a little, resting against Jaymi. He was right, it helps even if it's not the same. "Our judges are better."

"They are," Jaymi says, "Even if they don't seem to be convincing the public who to vote for very well."

"I think Gary's more concerned with doing what he wants to do, rather than what'll actually get votes," George mutters. "I miss Kye."

"I do, too," George sighs. "And Melanie."

"I'm still angry at Jade," Jaymi says darkly. That hurt -- her telling everyone that Union J didn't deserve their place, after his mum and Jade's had become friends and all.

"I just wish she'd told us she felt that way, instead of basically everyone else." George wants to put his face back in the pillow. "Bit rubbish to have to read it in the news."

"I suppose we'll have to get used to it, won't we?"

"Sometimes, Harry has to read in the paper that Louis hates him now," George reports. "That's probably worse."

"Not if he knows it isn't true," Jaymi reasons. "This is more like -- like if Louis was doing interviews saying Harry didn't deserve to be in the band."

The idea of Louis even thinking that is enough to make George feel a little squirmy.

"She was nice to us," Jaymi mutters, his forehead pressing against the nape of George's neck. "That's the worst part. She was always really nice to us."

It isn't exactly the first time this has happened to George, so while it still stings and hurts, he thinks maybe what he feels is duller than what Jaymi does. He always expected, on some level, for the other acts to speak ill of him once they'd left.

"I think they're coming up," Jaymi says after a moment, setting his chin on George's arm. "They'll be doing Live While We're Young, right?"

"I guess so," George says. "They're always one single behind in America, aren't they?"

"Usually, I think." Jaymi adjusts the screen so that they'll both be able to see better. "Must be, then, if their last one came out, what, two weeks ago?"

George nods and cuddles down into the bedding. He's always really sleepy when his stomach is full. That was an awful lot of fruit; he doesn't know how Harry eats whole cartons by himself.

Jaymi is rubbing his belly a little, and that's nice. "You gonna be able to stay awake?" he whispers, sounding amused.

The yawn comes as a surprise, and then Jaymi is laughing at him a little, and George flicks Jaymi's hip. "Yes."

"Are you sure? You sound sleepy." Jaymi _oh_ s as One Direction appear on the screen, curling closer around George's back.

"Why does America think everything has to have phone boxes on it for it to be British?" George asks.

"I think it's Doctor Who's fault," responds Jaymi thoughtfully. "I'll be sure to phone David Tennant and let him know."

He has to snort at that, but George can't really pay attention to Jaymi anymore, not when Harry and Louis are right there and George can see exactly what they're doing, what they look like today.

They look gorgeous, all perfectly styled and bouncing and happy. There's something, though, something off. He thinks at first that he's just imagining it, but there's definitely something weird the longer he watches, and he frowns.

"Does Harry sound a bit weird to you?" he asks in a mutter.

"They're out of tune," Jaymi mutters. "Even Zayn. I'm disappointed."

"That's probably just -- How many times have they done this song live?" George reasons. "No, it's definitely Harry. He sounds... Different."

"I wouldn't know, monkey," Jaymi says, and ruffles George's hair. "I don't spend nearly enough time to Harry crooning things."

"Shove off," George laughs, but he's still frowning a little at the screen. "He sounds... Growlier, or something."

"Well, maybe Louis was nervous and Harry helped him out," Jaymi reasons.

"No, it would've been the other way around. Maybe that is it, though," George agrees. It does sound a little like Harry's been spending time on his knees.

"Does Harry not give head?" Jaymi asks. "That's disappointing, too."

"Nah," George says absently. "It's more that I don't think Louis ever gets nervous."

"Everyone gets nervous," insists Jaymi. "Even massive popstars get nervous."

"Harry gets nervous, sometimes," George mumbles. "He said it calms him down to -- blow people."

"Well, there we go," Jaymi says. "That's probably all it is."

The more George watches, though, the more he's sure that something just isn't right with Harry. He doesn't know him nearly as well as Louis does, of course, but he does know Harry better than the average layperson and there's -- he's just not moving right, and he doesn't sound right at all. He grips the duvet a little, unable to wipe the frown from his face. Harry looks wan under the lights, and his skin seems all waxy and his smile doesn't sit right with George. He doesn't know what's wrong with Harry but something _is_.

It's not like there's anything he can do about it from here, whatever it is. But Jaymi rests his chin on George's shoulder and says, _ring him after the show_ , so George nods.

The show seems to take forever once One Direction have finished their performance. George doesn't care about any of these acts, and he doesn't care about any other performances, he just cares about Harry, and making sure Harry's alright, and being taken care of.

"They do these results totally differently," Jaymi comments. "I like that they say who got votes in what order. That's nice."

"But they split it up into groups and make some people wait," George points out. "I think I'd die if they made us go to an ad break before we knew if we were in or out."

"Yeah, that's true. I'd make myself sick worrying while everyone in the country's watching adverts about Maltesers or whatever." Jaymi snorts. "These announcers are so much more annoying than Dermot."

"Everyone is more annoying than Dermot!" It's true. George kind of adores Dermot, ever since Rylan cracked him. He even gave George one of his old Christmas jumpers last week. He just doesn’t adore him in a shagging sort of way, like Rylan does.

"Yeah but it's worse somehow when it's in an American accent. It startles me every time they open their mouths."

George giggles and cuddles back more into Jaymi.

"They're performing again at the end, I think." Jaymi presses his nose against the back of George's neck. It's cold, and George squirms. "Little Things. I don't think it's even come out in America, yet."

George frowns. He doesn't -- it's not a _thing_ , but he doesn't think he can deal with Little Things tonight, not after Ella spent so much time chewing him out and he feels so roly-poly from all of the fruit.

There's a moment of silence in the room before Jaymi offers, quietly, "D'you want to take a walk, or something? For a few minutes? I could come with. Could do with stretching my legs a bit."

Walking with Ella outside had shown George all of the fans still gathered around the hotel all the way into the middle of the night, but he does want to get out of the room. Just as an excuse.

"Maybe go to the gym?" George asks. "We could do that?"

"We could," Jaymi agrees. "I'll probably just watch, though. Bit achey in the knees today."

George frowns and nuzzles his head against Jaymi's arm. "Y'alright?"

"Yeah," confirms Jaymi, scritching his fingers through George's hair with a small smile. "Don't you worry about me. You've got enough to worry about, you have. You're worried about something every time I see you."

"That's not true," George protests. "I'm not so high-strung."

"I didn't say you were high-strung, I said you worry, and you know you do. You're worrying right now, I can see you." Jaymi gives him a knowing look.

"Something's wrong with Harry," George protests. That's a very good reason to worry.

"He probably just got his face fucked too hard." Jaymi ruffles George's hair. "You said it yourself, it calms him down."

"But he doesn't like _that_ ," George blurts, and then sucks his lips in between his teeth because that was definitely too much to say and he's promised them he wouldn't tell people about their relationship and oh, dear.

Jaymi just raises his eyebrows, though. "Er, alright. Call him, then, after the show," he urges again. "When was the last time you talked to either of them?"

"Texted this morning," George says thoughtfully. "I think they're nine hours behind, now."

"Eight or nine, yeah. It's early there, then, only eight or something, I'm shit at time zones." Jaymi bats at George's arm. "Call them. You'll be stressing all night if you don't and you won't get any sleep."

"I will, I will," George promises obliquely. "Just want to let them get a chance to get off stage and do whatever it is real popstars do first."

"What do real popstars do?" Jaymi asks, curious. "Besides have sex with you, apparently."

"I don't know," George says thoughtfully. "I'm not one yet. A real popstar, I mean. I do have sex with me. Did it while you were at dinner, even."

"I know more about your sex life than I do my own," Jaymi says with a wrinkled nose. "It's not at all fair."

George just beams at him with all of his teeth.

"Shut up," Jaymi mutters, squeezing George once and then shifting away to get up off the bed. "Come on, I don't even know if the gym'll still be open this late. Maybe we're popstar enough to get in even if it is?"

George doesn't honestly _want_ to go to the gym, he just doesn't want to -- can't hear Liam Payne singing about backfat dimples and rubby thighs right now. Maybe ever. So he flops face-down on the bed and whines, "Can't we do something else? I know it was my idea but it was a terrible idea."

"It really was a terrible idea," Jaymi agrees. "Right you are. Who goes to the gym at two in the morning? Idiot," he says affectionately.

George gives a little shrug and flips his hair out of his eyes. It has gone over entirely too shaggy.

"When're you going to let Jamie cut this scruff?" Jaymi fluffs his fingers through George's fringe. "You look like a woolly mammoth."

"When Harry says I can," George says plaintively.

Jaymi frowns a little. "Surely he's not that concerned with your _hair_ ," he says, doubtful. "Did he tell you that you can't cut it? Why?"

"Because it looks like his hair," George says. Jaymi is a little slow. Everyone knows that Harry and George have similar hair like this.

"So?" Jaymi asks after a long pause. "It doesn't, really. It's not even curly, and that's... a weird thing to ask of you."

"They've asked weirder," George assures him.

"Hrm." Jaymi is still frowning. "You should ask him if you can. It gets in your eyes all the time. You'll need to see where you're going while we perform."

"Aw, you won't let me fall off the stage," George says, and he nuzzles into Jaymi's chest. 

He sort of wishes he were still allowed to get off with Jaymi. That would be a good way to pass the time.

"You're right, I won't." Jaymi laughs softly and pulls George closer, rubbing his back. "I'll protect you."

George hums a small, happy sound and nestles into Jaymi, slotting into all of his spaces to get a really good cuddle.

"You're such a cuddlemosquito," Jaymi says into his ear, all low and amused. "Except you're not biting me anymore. Just a regular cuddlebug, then."

"Not supposed to bite you," George mumbles.

Jaymi's hand pauses in its movement down George's back before it starts up again, rubbing the same slow circles. "I know you're not," he murmurs in reply. "And you're not now, are you? Just cuddles. Those are alright, still, aren't they?"

It's not entirely been explained, actually, whether cuddles are okay. So George is quiet.

"Aren't they?" Jaymi repeats, and George can hear his frown even if he can't see it with his face against Jaymi's chest. "George."

"I'm not sure," George hedges. "I think so."

"They can't just leave you all alone and not let you touch anyone at all," Jaymi whispers like he thinks Harry and Louis might be in the room with them. "That's cruel, George, for someone like you."

"I don't think that's what they meant," George says. "I'm just not supposed to have sex with you. Or anyone else. And I'm not to let Nick Grimshaw near me, I think."

"Well, I'm not Nick Grimshaw, and you're not having sex with me, are you?" Jaymi reasons. "It's just a cuddle. Who else do I have to give me late night cuddles?"

"You could try cuddling JJ," George says, but squirms even closer to Jaymi just in case he thinks about letting go. "But as you're not a pony, he might not like it."

"Probably not, no," Jaymi laughs. "Nobody else does it as well as you do. And... I like taking care of you," he admits. "Not like, in a sex way, just, you need attention sometimes, and I like being able to help when I can."

"But you did want to, in a sex way," George points out quietly. "I'm on your list and everything."

Jaymi sighs, and George thinks he's about to be pushed away, but Jaymi just shifts around. "I'm attracted to you," Jaymi says, his voice just as soft as George's is. "But I respect that you're in a relationship, and I'm in a relationship. I can't exactly help finding you attractive."

"You're attractive, too," George offers. 

"But I'm not Harry Styles," Jaymi finishes. "And I get that."

"It's not that," George says right away. "I didn't mean it like that; I wasn't insulting you."

"I know you weren't, Georgie." Jaymi ruffles the back of George's hair again with his fingers. "I understand, I really do. I'm not for you. You're not for me either, really."

George hides his face in Jaymi's chest before he asks, "Does Olly hate me?"

"Of course he doesn't," Jaymi soothes. "It's complicated, sometimes, our relationship. He knows I had to help you, and he knows I love him." Jaymi pauses. "He isn't, maybe... _over_ -chuffed at Louis and Harry, though, for putting you in that position?"

"It wasn't their fault," George mumbles, frowning against Jaymi's shirt. "They didn't know. How could they've known? And they didn't... They didn't get rid of me, or anything. It turned out fine."

"George, they sent you out to go sit around wearing a plug for hours and hours when you never had before. What did they think would happen? You're lucky you didn't _really_ hurt yourself, like torn something inside." Jaymi huffs a bit, but he keeps his hands soft on George's back. "I'm just worried about you. They're on tour for a _long_ time soon."

"People keep reminding me of that. It's like they think I don't know or something, like I'm not totally aware that I'm going to be cut out of them again." George swallows and closes his eyes. "I just really hope it's kind."

Jaymi's quiet for a long time before he asks, "D'you -- would you want help finding someone else... for all of this, after? Only there are clubs and stuff but let's be honest here, you'd get eaten alive and I think... you're probably quite special with what you need. Would you want some introductions or anything?"

George has never met anyone into this type of play before he got to London, and suddenly it’s practically his whole social circle. Probably something to do with the kind of personality that needs validation via reality TV singing competitions, or something. 

Thinking about After Harry And Louis makes George feel panicky and choked up, though, and he's shaking his head before Jaymi's finished his first sentence.

"No, no, sorry, I can't," he says, fisting a hand in Jaymi's shirt. He thinks of Nick Grimshaw offering to help him, too, and there's nothing for him there. He needs Harry and Louis. It can't be anyone else. “It's them. It's just, it's them."

"George, I don't think it is," Jaymi says gently. "I think you were who you are long before them. And I think you should remember that, too, just... in case."

"In case of what?" George clears his throat when it comes out all squeaky and small. "They give me what I need. I need them."

"Georgie, they're going to be gone for three-quarters of the next year. And you've known them two months." Jaymi holds George a little tighter, and George sighs gratefully. "You're not well right now, and... look, you think you need them, but _we_ need you well. Me and Josh and JJ and Ella and everybody, we need you well."

"I am well," George mutters, feeling distinctly itchy. "I'm getting fit, and we've gotten so far on the show, I'm well. I look good, I sound good, I'm good."

"But you fall apart all the time," Jaymi says. "And I can't -- if they won't let other people help you get what you need, and they can't give it to you because they're gone, I think it was really irresponsible for them to collar you."

"But that's why they did," George says quietly. He can barely hear himself. "So that I know, even when they're not here. I know I'm theirs."

Jaymi doesn't say anything to that, and George is -- not angry, exactly, but he's spiky and doesn't want to be cuddled right now, which is fairly rare for him.

"I have to ring Harry," he says. "I need to see if he's alright."

"Course you do," Jaymi accepts, dropping his arms to his sides. "It's good of you to think of his health, even when he's not around."

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, George nods. It is good to know someone cares even when they aren't there. He can do that for them, and they can do that for him, and things will work out. They will. He belongs to them; he can't just give up on them so easily.

"I can leave you alone, if you want," Jaymi offers. "Give you some privacy."

George nods. "That might be good. Thanks."

"Yeah." Jaymi looks worried, and George thinks he has no room to talk about George worrying all the time. Jaymi does enough for the both of them.

"Jaymi, I'm fine," George insists. "I've eaten, I've slept, and I'm a grown man. I know I spend most of my time pretending to be a monkey but, like, I am nineteen. I'm older than Harry, even."

"That's the only reason I'm not pushing." Jaymi narrows his eyes at George. "But I don't trust them to know how to take care of you all the time. You say you take care of yourself, but you don't, George, you really don't. And I'm not saying that to be a dick, I'm saying it because you don't, and you know it."

George does know. It was one of the provisions his mum had made before letting him audition, and he's not quite living up.

"I'm fine," he just says again.

"You're not fine," Jaymi says almost over top of him. "You are not fine. Being so dependent on them isn't fine after so little time isn't fine. Dropping all the time, that's not fine. Feeling like you have to do things you don't want to do isn't _fine_ , George."

"I don't do things I don't want to do!" George insists. "I don't! That was one time, and it was before we talked about it, and it was okay because it was just Harry anyway! They have to keep everything so secret, it's not like -- they're not going to ask me to humiliate myself in public, and that's all I don't want to do." George frowns. " _You_ made me do things in public as much as they have."

"Have I really, because I weirdly don't recall the last time I made you sit with a plug inside you for hours when you'd never had one before." Jaymi is properly frowning now, all scrunched brows and downturned mouth.

"You have, because you're the one who rubbed off on me in a loo in the middle of a black-tie premiere, and they weren't happy with me about it, and -- you _did_." George knows he isn't being fair, but there's only so much of being called incompetent and stupid and clingy and young that a person can take in one day. He's _fine_ , and he _can_ take care of himself.

"Because you said you needed me to help you!" Jaymi exclaims. "Either you can make your own decisions or you can't, you can't have it both ways!"

George's eyes start to prickle, and god, the _last_ thing he needs today is to cry.

"I'm just," Jaymi starts, and he's not loud anymore, he just sounds tired. Defeated, almost. "I'm just so sick of you not being treated like you should. I'm so sick of it, because you deserve better. I want you to be safe _and_ happy."

George doesn't have the energy for this. He doesn't look up from his lap as he says, "I'm going to ring Harry now."

Jaymi doesn't say anything at all for a moment, just breathes. "Okay," he finally mumbles. "Okay. I'll be... I'll be somewhere else."

George nods. "Thanks."

He doesn't get another response from Jaymi, just silence and then footsteps padding across the room. The door opens and then closes again, and then more silence.

George _is_ happy. He is. And he is safe; it's not like they're being _un_ safe with him. They got tested and everything, and they don't hit him or whip him or choke him or whatever else it is that people do sometimes.

He's happier than he's ever been before. They care about him and they tell him that he's good, and they gave him a collar because he's theirs. He finally feels like maybe he belongs somewhere. Why does Jaymi want to take that away from him?

He scowls a little deeper. Ella, too. Although maybe she's coming around.

It's not fair that he's finally happy and people still don't want him to be. He's spent his whole life thinking he didn't deserve happiness and now he's got it and he keeps getting shouted at.

He dials Harry's number with a little more force than is probably necessary, holding the mobile to his ear once it begins to ring.

It's Louis who answers, and he sounds frazzled. "Hello, love, can you hold on a minute?"

"Yes, sorry. I can call back?" He should've texted first. That was stupid.

"No, no, no, just -- hang on." There's a muffled sound and then Louis' voice speaking in soft, low tones that George can't make out.

Maybe something's really wrong with Harry, George thinks with a sudden spike of alarm. Otherwise he'd answer his own phone.

He bites at his index finger, waiting.

After what feels like forever, Louis comes back on the line, his voice clear, if a little quiet. "Sorry about that, you alright, babe?"

"I'm okay," George says. "I watched you sing; is Harry alright?"

There's another muffled sound and Louis' voice fades before coming back. "Would you like to talk to him yourself?"

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine, he's alright. He's just got a bit ill, but he's okay, yeah," says Louis. "He's right here."

"Oh," George says, and relaxes a bit. "I could tell; I thought something was wrong."

"Er," Louis mutters, lowering his voice. "Be a dear and don't say that to him. He feels like he's let us down."

"Oh, no, he was still good," George says quickly. "I just thought -- he looked a bit peaky."

"George says you were brilliant," Louis says in a louder voice, and George knows it's not meant for him. "Hear that? Our boy watched you be amazing. Isn't it late there? What are you still doing awake?"

"I was out for a walk with Ella," George says, and leaves out the bits about eating and fighting with Jaymi.

"At one in the morning?" Louis asks, surprise in his voice. "Bit late for a stroll, isn't it?"

"It was earlier when we left," George admits. "Round about eleven."

"Oh, alright. Did you have a nice time? Is it very cold? It was when we left but it's _boiling_ here."

"It's not too bad," George says. "I had my mittens on."

"I bet you looked darling." Louis sounds a little wistful. "We miss you. If you were wondering. We miss you loads."

George doesn't want his breath to catch at that, but it does.

"How're you doing?" Louis asks gently, and then there's a rustling sound in the background, like he's moved something so he can sit down. "You alright?"

"I'm okay," George insists, but his voice comes out thin and wobbly. "I'm fine."

"Are you, really?" Louis sounds like he doesn't believe George at all. "You don't sound okay, if I'm honest."

"Oh... just stressful," George says. "I think we'll be in the bottom two. Probably us and Rylan. And it's Remembrance Day this weekend and that always gets me emotional, and -- Ella and Jaymi are upset with me."

"Whoa, that sounds like a lot of not okay things," Louis says gently. "Why does Remembrance Day get you emotional? Or is it just the obvious?"

They really _don't_ know him at all. "My brother's in Afghanistan."

"Oh!" Louis exclaims. "I had no idea, wow, yeah, I can see why you'd get emotional. Is he stationed there long-term?"

"It's his fourth tour," George says, and goes back to chewing at his fingers.

"You must be under a lot of stress, wanting to do well for him," says Louis. "You're going to be brilliant. You and your boys have been improving week by week."

"Yeah." George is still quiet. "Harry's really okay?"

"He's really okay," Louis confirms. "I'll let you talk to him as soon as you tell me why Ella and Jaymi are upset with you."

George grumbles. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Why don't you want to talk about it? Because you think I'll be upset as well?"

"No, I just -- I'm supposed to make you happier and like, it doesn't matter anyway."

"It does matter, if it's upsetting you, which it obviously is." Louis' voice is soft. "Talk to me, George."

"No one thinks I can take care of myself, and it's just annoying. I do take care of myself. I'm fine, right? So it's just annoying when Ella's all -- henpecking me and Jaymi's nagging about, about things that don't matter."

"You know they only mother about because they care about you," Louis says. "I get the same way when Liam does it to me. It's just their way of showing they care. They worry about you."

"But they don't need to," George says. He swallows and asks, "Because I'm not theirs to worry about?"

"Oh, love," Louis breathes. "Of course they need to worry about you. They're your friends and they love you. Just because you're ours doesn't mean you don't need anybody else."

Being let down easy isn't anything new, either. None of this is. George blinks furiously. "But I don't want anyone else."

"You know that's not true. You want your friends, people who care about you and like you. You're ours, completely, and we want you to stay that way. But that doesn't mean you can't let anyone else help you."

George bristles at that. "But I can do it myself. I know I act young but I'm still capable of things. I don't -- I don't need to be _rescued_ all the time anymore, I'm not... the fat kid in the corner getting my wrists broken. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, darling, of course you can," Louis soothes, but it just sounds patronizing. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Don't talk to me like that all the time," George snaps. "I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not stupid. What way am I talking to you in?" Louis' voice sounds like he's frowning.

George doesn't say anything, and just picks at the beads of his collar.

"George, are you still there? Has the line disconnected?" As Louis is talking, his voice goes out and then back in, checking the call on his phone. "George, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. You're not like this."

"I'm here," George says. "I don't need fixing, Louis. I am how I am."

"Is that what you think we're doing?" Louis asks softly. "Me and Harry, you think we're trying to fix you?"

"No," George sighs. "Never mind. It's not important, just -- don't talk to me like I'm slow. I hate that."

"It is important, if it's upsetting you, which it obviously is," Louis murmurs. "I didn't mean to talk to you like you're slow. I'm sorry, if I did. I just want to know what's wrong, because I hate it when you're upset, that's all."

"Nothing's _wrong_ , I'm just -- cranky," George says, and exhales. "I'm fine."

"Are you tired? It's late, there. Maybe you should sleep? Not," Louis says quickly, "because I think you're cranky for a stupid reason. Just because I know I always get cranky when I'm tired."

"I don't need to sleep yet, it's early for me," George says. He wants to talk to Harry, but doesn't know how to ask without insulting Louis.

"It's two in the morning, or something," says Louis doubtfully.

“I stay up later, usually," George says. "I just don't sleep much."

He hears Louis sigh. "I won't tell you to sleep more even if I think you should, because I worry, and because I do feel responsible for you."

"I don't need much sleep," George protests. "I just don't need a lot of sleep or much food to keep going, and no one understands that and they don't let me explain. I can take care of myself, and I am."

"You've got bags under your eyes," Louis says, all quiet and careful like he thinks George might explode at him. "And I've seen pictures of you, from a few months ago. You've lost a lot of weight. You can't blame people for being nervous about that, George."

"I'm on television every week," George says. It itches under his skin. "I just want to look good."

"You look gorgeous. You always look _gorgeous_ , you don't need to skip meals to do that."

George barely manages to bite back _well, we can't all look as good with a gut as you do_. "I just don't need much food or sleep to get energy, alright?"

Louis sighs. "I'll stop harping on you about it, for now, as you're upset enough," he allows. "D'you want to talk to Harry? He's finished being sick. Smells a bit off, but you can't tell over the phone."

"Yes, please," George mumbles.

There's a short moment of quiet and then Harry's voice, slow and croaky over the line. "George?"

"Hi, Harry," George says right away, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yes, I'm fine, perfectly alright." Harry clears his throat. "Are you? Conversation seemed a little tense."

"I'm fine." George coughs a little. "Are you ill?"

"Just a bit," says Harry. "Remember how I told you, sometimes I get a bit stressed before performances?"

"But you've already sung?" George asks. "I watched you, by the way, and you were good, but I worried. I thought -- I could tell maybe you were off. You sounded great, though."

"Yeah." Harry sounds a little sad, now. "I was hoping it wouldn't come across. Was it really bad?"

"No, no, it was really good," George says, and wishes he'd never said anything. He didn't mean to make Harry feel bad.

He can't do anything right today. Except the wanking; that went well. George frowns and bites his fingernail and wonders why the only thing he's good at is sex.

"I was out of tune for all of Live While We're Young," Harry mumbles. "I think Little Things went a bit better, though. I'd thrown up by then."

"'M sorry," George murmurs. "Can I do anything to help?"

"You can tell me about your day. I think we've got a few minutes, don't we?" There's a pause where George can hear Louis' voice, but not make out any words. "Yeah, tell me about your day, sweetheart. I miss you."

George blinks again a little frantically. "I miss you, too."

"I got your message, from earlier. Sorry I didn't get a chance to text back, we were sort of on telly." Harry's joking now, his voice a little slower than normal but he's joking and he doesn't sound as sad. "We'll be home Saturday, I think."

"I'm glad," George says softly. "I -- dunno, I just miss you."

"We miss you, too. We miss you a lot." Harry's voice gets a little louder like his mouth's closer to the phone. "We're sorry, again, we couldn't be there for your performance last weekend. You really were Gorgeous George. Wish I could've fucked you after."

"Me, too," George says. "But it was good to be able to have my guitar again. I'm more confident with it."

"I do love a man with a guitar. Good hands, them." Harry sounds fond. "You look like you belong with it."

"Thanks," George says. "It's nice 'cause I can give it a bit of a cuddle onstage when I'm nervous."

Harry sighs a little. "You're adorable. I wish I could give you a bit of a cuddle right now, if I'm honest. I like a cuddle when I feel peaky."

"You have Louis to cuddle," George points out quietly.

Harry's voice gets a bit sheepish. "I'm not really supposed to, strictly speaking. If I'm contagious, they don't want the others all getting ill as well. I said it was just nerves, but I guess it's standard procedure or something."

"But you still _could_ ," George points out. "He's still there with you."

“I wish you were here with us," says Harry. "It's sort of -- a bit weird, sometimes, to go back to there only being two of us."

“I know what you mean, I think. This morning when I was having a wank, I couldn't remember what you're supposed to imagine when there's only two hands and not four. I mean on me. Normally with two people I guess there's already four. So six. I couldn't remember how to count them, even."

"Were you having a wank thinking of us?" Harry sounds delighted. "Louis, he had a wank over us this morning!"

George is blushing even though it's true and they can't see him. "Piss off, of course I was thinking of you."

"Yesterday," Harry says, his voice going into a mumble. "Louis rode me for about an hour, and the whole time he whispered in my ear all the dirty things he wants to do to you once we're back."

"Yeah?" George asks, and feels a little breathless because he can _see_ it, knows the way Louis' back arches and how Harry's neck goes long and needy when he tries to keep still.

"Mm-hmm," Harry hums. "He's got a very creative imagination. I can't wait to try out some of the things he wants. Spunking in your hair. Keeping you on your knees the whole time. Using a vibe on you until you're shaking." He sounds wistful.

George swallows, throat a bit dry. "I've never -- that last one, I've never tried that."

"Not ever? I suppose it's only natural, considering you'd never seen a plug before." Harry's grin is obvious in his voice. "They're amazing things. I want to make you come on one without touching your cock."

"I want to learn that," George immediately breathes. "I want to get really good at it."

"It's good we want to teach you, then, isn't it?" There's a loud _bang_ from the other end, and then Harry sighs. "We've got to get going, as much as I'd love to tell you everything else he said."

"Oh." George feels a bit deflated (although unfortunately not literally). "Alright, then. Erm, you'll be back in London for the show Saturday? Or after, could I see you after?"

"We'll be taking you home after the show," Harry says, soft and firm. "To have our way with you."

George's lips twist and he smiles a bit. See, keeping himself fit has been worth it, hasn't it? They still want him. "Okay."

"Just okay?" Harry asks, affronted. "Bit more enthusiasm would be lovely."

"Oh, _god, please_ Harry, _please_ fuck me so I can't even move on Sunday," George says dryly (although he means every word).

"Shut up," says Harry, but he sounds pleased all the same. "You've asked for it now. You won't be able to walk without thinking of me."

"Good," George says, and it's honest. "I think we're going home Sunday, so I'd -- I'd like to have that to think on instead."

"You're not going home on Sunday." Harry makes a frustrated noise, but his next words tell George it's not because of him. "I'd tell you to call back later but you should sleep, it's late."

"Okay," George agrees. Sleeping might make the time pass more quickly, if nothing else.

"Dream about us, alright?" There's a weird sort of noise. "Sorry, I just tried to kiss you through the phone. It's not as easy as the song makes it out to be."

George has to laugh at that, a real laugh, full and throaty and more than just one of his little giggles. "Well, thanks for the effort."

"You're very welcome, Gorgeous George. I'll call you tomorrow, if I get a chance."

"Thanks," George murmurs, "Erm, can you tell Louis I'm sorry I snapped at him, also?"

"I'm sure he knows." Harry's voice softens. "But I'll tell him, yeah."

“I am sorry," George says. "Just... a lot of stress. I was wrong." He twitches his lips sadly. "I understand if he has to punish me for it."

"He'll understand. You _are_ under a lot of stress. That's why you should get some sleep, and eat a good breakfast when you wake up." After a moment, Harry grunts. "Alright, I've _really_ got to go now."

"Do I want to know what all that noise is?" George asks curiously. "Is it the sort of noises I'd like?"

Harry pauses, then laughs a little. "Probably," he admits. "But I've only got about a minute to finish before someone comes looking for us."

George can't help a soft, sad little moan. "If I were there, I could help. My mouth's watering."

"I want your mouth," groans Harry. "It's -- listening to your voice when you're not here, you've got such a good mouth, Lou, Louis I can't --"

George hears Louis' voice from somewhere a bit further off snap, "Oh, just come then, my knees are tired anyway."

Harry gasps, and then there's a sort of cracking sound loud in George's ear. He thinks maybe Harry's dropped the phone, because he can still hear sounds, they're just farther away.

Then Louis' raspy voice picks up. "Hello, love. Sorry about your ears, Harry's clumsy when he's coming."

"I'm sorry," George blurts, because Louis is there and he needs to apologize. "I just, I miss you, and I'm -- I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"That's okay, babe," Louis says. "I've been on the X Factor, I understand what it's like."

"No, it's not okay. I shouldn't have, it's not your fault, any of it." George swallows, and blinks until his eyes stop burning.

"Sweetheart, it's really okay," Louis murmurs. "I'm not upset with you, I just wish you were happy."

"I am happy," whispers George. He gets a little thrill every time either of them uses a pet name with him. "You make me happy."

"Good." Louis sounds gentle. "But other things need to make you happy, too."

This stumps George for a moment. Other things _do_ make him happy, just not -- not people nagging him, or talking to him like he's a child.

"Lots of things make me happy," he says. "My guitar, and my band, and Ella. Headscratches. And going on walks. Oh, that does make me sound like I'm a dog."

Louis laughs down the line. "Get some rest, George," he instructs. "We'll see you Saturday."

"Okay," George says, and somehow because Louis' told him to sleep, he feels tired.

"Bye," Louis says, and after George says it back there's a click, and the line goes dead.

It was good that he did get to talk to them a bit. He feels less angry at everything now, just sleepy and sort of sad.

George settles back against the pillows to read -- whatever it is, the stuff on Tumblr, the porn about Harry and Louis. Some of it's quite good, and he likes letting someone else tell him what to imagine, just to keep it fresh. Sort of like custom new fantasies on call.

The next thing he knows, he's tucked under the blankets and the lights are off and his sweatshirt's been pulled over his head so that he's wearing a t-shirt and pants; he must have fallen asleep reading. 

Jaymi is good at taking care of him, too.

His anticipation for Saturday only makes the next day go by even slower, of course. There's rehearsals and interviews and George barely has time to breathe, let alone think or make phone calls or anything. He does manage one text to Harry -- _cant wait to see u tomorrow!_ \-- but he doesn't get a reply right away and that's alright, too.

What isn’t alright is that things aren't going right with the song. They're fine when they play it acoustically, but as soon as the track starts and they're onstage, it's like George _just can't get the words out_.

The others are starting to get annoyed, he can tell. He wants to be able to do this right, do it _well_ for his brother and for the group so they don't go home on Sunday but the more time passes the more he's sure this is it, they're going home and it's all going to end.

He's never shut down under pressure quite like this before. Not to the point where he literally cannot sing.

"George," Jaymi says to him with his hands on George's shoulders and his eyes very serious. "George, you _need to do this_. What's wrong? You've never got like this before a performance."

George shakes his head. "I don't know. I think -- starting the song, last time I started the song it was our worst performance, and my brother... I can't, just. Give it to Josh, can we give it to Josh?"

Jaymi's features have gone all soft. "Are you sure? I think we can, but I don't want to take your part away from you."

George shakes his head. "I'll still be singing, I just don't have to start the song. I -- it's too much pressure, because if it's bad, we're going home."

"Alright, we'll see if Josh can't take it, then." Jaymi opens his arms a little. D'you want a hug, or anything?"

George shrugs and lets Jaymi fold him up into his arms. "I dunno what's wrong with me. I don't know why I'm so nervous."

"It's a big moment, for you, with your brother," Jaymi murmurs. "And you're all -- you haven't had your boys, either, and I'm sure that's not helping."

"Yeah, but those shouldn't have anything to do with each other," George mumbles. "That's gross."

Jaymi laughs in his ear. "Right, not like that. I just mean you're under a lot of pressure."

George nods at that. "I just don't want it all to be over."

"It won't be. We're going to be really good." Jaymi kisses George's head before he leans back. "I'll ask Josh if he can take your opening line, shall I?"

"Yes, please." George tilts his face to kiss Jaymi's cheek, down low at the curve of his jaw. "Thanks, Jaymi."

Jaymi flushes sort of mottled pink, and nods quickly. "Yeah, of course."

George sits down in the stairwell with his guitar and folds his head down into the basket of his arms. He needs more coffee, but it'll make him sick today if he drinks more; he can tell. Maybe he's had _too_ much coffee and it's put him on edge. Hce's been so nervous all week about this performance and now it's like all his fears are coming true. Even if Josh does take the opening lines, something else is going to go wrong, and it'll be his fault, and they'll be sent home, and everyone will hate him.

When two sets of feet come ehoing down the stairs, George folds himself up as small as he can be.

"Are you sure you're alright seeing him, Cazza?" It's Olly. Not Jaymi's Olly.

"Sure, yeah, we're friends, Ollz, _really_ ," Caroline says. "We get on perfectly well, me and Hazz."

Right, he forgets that Harry -- and Caroline. He frowns a little, his eyes closed against his arms. He's still not sure how that would have worked, if Harry's been with Louis so very long.

He'll ask Ella later, since she said she'd had A Talk with Caroline about looking linked to boy bander boys who like boy bander boys. Maybe she has more information than George does.

Most people probably have more information than George does. Sometimes he feels like he's the center of some giant cosmic joke to give him everything he could want and then yank it away as easy as someone saying _the act with the least amount of votes leaving the competition tonight is..._

"I'm just saying, if you want me to do the interview, I can." Olly always sounds so enamored with Caroline. George thinks it's sweet.

"I'll be _fine_." Caroline's words are fondly exasperated. "Honestly, we're still friends, there isn't any bad blood there."

George's brow furrows a little where he's hiding. What interview?

 _Is Harry going to be on the show tonight_?

George swears he would've known if he was. Harry and Louis would've mentioned, or -- _somebody_ would've mentioned to him, surely?

He gives up on hiding to pull out his mobile and text both Harry and Louis at once. _are you ON THE SHOW tinight???? X_

He doesn't get a response from Harry, but Louis texts back almost immediately, which is almost the same as a reply from them both.

_DID U NOT KNOW THAT ????_

George almost drops his guitar in his haste to sit up and answer. _NO ONE TELLS ME ANYTHING AAUUUGHHHHH!!!!_

"Are you alright, George?" Caroline asks, bending down over the bannister. "We didn't even see you!"

"Yes, I'm fine!" George looks up to give her a quick smile and then turn back to his phone to see Louis' response, which is just _SEE U IN A FEW HOURS HAHAHA XXXX_ because Louis is a dick sometimes. George feels bad for thinking that almost instantly and wants to apologize, except he technically hasn't done anything.

He doesn't know whether this makes him more or less stressed out, if he's honest. 

But he needs to sort his hair. That, he knows. He knows he needs to look good.

Harry and Louis are going to be watching, on the night when George is going to screw everything up and get them sent home. He swallows hard against bile in his throat.

Definitely more stressed out, then.

Ella. Or Jaymi. He needs either Ella or Jaymi right now. Preferably Ella.

He grips his guitar tightly as he stands and wobbles a little before righting himself. He has no idea where to find either of them but he _needs_ one of them.

"Can I help you?" Caroline sounds both concerned and amused. "You look... stricken."

"I need Ella," George blurts. He can't feel his feet, he doesn't think. "Or Jaymi, but mostly, mostly Ella, do you know where Ella is?"

Caroline grins a little at that. "Sweet. I think she's getting her hair done now."

"Oh, good, I need that, too," George says. "Hair. I've got so much hair. Only on my head. Not -- dammit, not _only_ , just... why am I telling you this?"

"Because you're panicking over something." Caroline's still smiling, but she looks a little worried, now. "Do you need to lie down?"

"I'm not panicking," George says, "I'm just -- lots of coffee, lots of energy! Big show. One Direction. Boy band. S! More than one boy band _s_!"

"Yes, that's right, One Direction are on tonight." Caroline nods slowly. "Are you nervous about that or something? Here, I'll walk you to Ella."

"I'm not nervous," George says. "Why would being in a boy band in front of the biggest boy band in the world make me nervous, that's -- and I've -- met them... once... briefly, in a socially public context. There's no reason for me to be nervous." He coughs. "Around... with you, also there. With One Direction."

Caroline's eyebrows are raising high on her forehead. "I'm alright around One Direction, though I'm starting to wonder if you will be."

George makes a noise. It's not a noise he's made before, or that's particularly flattering.

Caroline smiles at him, and kindly, like she knows, lifts his left hand and presses his bracelet into his skin lightly. "You'll be fine."

It doesn't calm him down very much, but he fixes the way he's breathing, at least. "We're going to be terrible in front of them," he mutters. "We're going to get sent home."

Caroline holds out her arms. "D'you need a hug, Gorgeous George?"

It feels like all of George's breath comes out at once. "I could really use a hug," he says, and he puts his own arms around her in return.

"Harry's crazy about you, you know," she murmurs into his hair. "Nick told me. I don't know whether that bit makes you feel better or worse, but if you're asking me, you aren't going home, either."

George feels both even more wretched and a little bit cheered up. Mostly wretched. "People keep finding out," he says quietly. "They told me not to tell anyone, and I keep finding out people know anyway."

"Nick's mostly discreet, I promise." Caroline looks a little uncomfortable. "He -- it's a thing, people don't really know what happened with me and Harry so they tell me things about his sex life now to see how I react."

"That's awful." George frowns, and squeezes her more tightly. She seems like maybe she could use it just as much as him. "People really do that?"

"People do worse." Caroline shrugs. "At least I love Nick. Twat that I'd like to punch in the mouth as he is."

"He sort of -- gives off that impression," George agrees. "I don't suppose I know him very well."

Caroline smirks. "Yeah, he mentioned that Louis wasn't keen on letting that happen."

"Not really." George shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know that I'd have had the opportunity anyway, though. To -- well. Whatever."

"You're alright, George," Caroline promises. "You are. And there's no way you lads are going home. I think I ran over a sixth former trying to get into the car park this morning and she died screaming your name."

George snorts a laugh, wrinkling his nose and smiling at her the best he can. "I don't know if I'm ready for that level of devotion."

"Well, you have it," Caroline says. "You really do. And you're gonna be brilliant."

It's what he needs to hear, even if it's not quite who he needs to hear it from. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, nodding.

Caroline gives his shoulder a rub. "Go on and get your hair did all pretty. Cuddle on Ella. Do what you need to do."

"I will." George gives her another smile, one of his best ones. "Thanks, Caroline."

She pinches his cheek lightly. "Oh, if I didn't care so much about Harry, and my reputation, you'd be in trouble."

George bites his lip a little and lowers his eyes, then looks at her through his eyelashes. It's still his only flirty move, and he hasn't done it in ages, and if he's not going to do anything about it, he's not doing anything wrong, right?

Caroline looks suitably flustered, and George laughs.

"Still got it!" he gloats, pumping his fist in the air. 

He does feel better.

"Oh, you -- go," Caroline chastises, but she's laughing all the same.

George picks his guitar back up and gives it a reassuring stroke before trundling off to find Ella in Hair & Makeup.

She's sitting very still to let Jamie do her hair, but she gives George a smile without moving her head.

"Hello, Monkeyboy," she greets.

"Hi, Ella Bear," George sighs, and sits down in the chair beside hers. "Did you know One Direction were on the show tonight?"

Ella gives him a look, all furrowed brows and careful consideration. "Did you... not know that One Direction were on the show tonight?" she asks slowly.

"No!" George exclaims. "No one tells me anything!"

"Everyone probably assumed you knew already!" reasons Ella. "I _thought_ you were being awfully quiet about it."

"Ella, I can't sing in front of them," George says under his breath. "That's not -- I can't even sing this week _anyway_."

Ella frowns at him, and it's all the more severe before she's had her makeup done and her eyes stand out. "What's wrong? Is it still your nerves?"

"I don't know, maybe," George grumbles. "I just open my mouth and nothing comes out."

"Stage fright?" asks Ella sympathetically. "Oh, no. And I can't imagine it's any better knowing you'll have to sing in front of -- them."

"I'm just, everyone thinks that I'm, like... the new Harry," George says. "And I'm not. I just stand there and look pretty and that's -- what I do well."

"Hey," Ella says sharply. "Everyone's heard you sing, George. Solo. And you're good. You're really, really good, just sometimes the song choice doesn't fit your voice."

"But I'm always the only one it doesn't fit!" George clutches his guitar tight. "I'm just, it's going to be my fault, if we go home."

"If you go home, it will be because the people of Liverpool are stupid," Ella says. "And you won't, anyway. I'll probably go home."

George snorts so hard it hurts a little. "Everyone knows you're making the final. Literally everyone knows. I bet people who don't even own televisions know."

Ella sighs and looks like she'd tilt her head if it wouldn't make Jamie burn her fairly severely with a curling rod. "And even people without televisions have heard of Union J. Your face was in an _American magazine_ already. You're fine."

George's hands flutter a little. "This is really important to me," he says in a mumble. "I don't want to mess it up."

"You won't, Georgie." Ella pats his thigh. "I promise."

"I'm not singing the opening lines anymore. I think Josh's taken them. I hope he has." George shrugs, except it's more that he moves his shoulders. "I couldn't sing them."

Ella looks really sympathetic, and it makes George feel a little worse. "Will will love it anyway, George."

"He's -- He does so much, and he gives so much, and I can't even sing a few lines of a solo for him." George shakes his head.

"Hey." Ella looks significantly into George's eyes through their reflections in the big mirror. "That's totally different. I mean, you can't compare them. Like, at all."

"I _know_ , that's what I'm saying." George feels sick again. "I just really want to do well for him. He deserves that much."

"You're going to do beautifully," Ella says. "And it's a really sweet thing. He'll love it no matter what happens."

George swallows, and jerks his head in a nod. He has to try, at least. He has to do his best, and hope it's good enough.

The further things go in the competition, the more seems to get piled onto him.

At least he'll get to see Harry and Louis later. That's something. If he doesn't die of nerves and coffee-jitters first.

Ella gives George's thigh a little rub. "You're shaky. Did you eat?"

"I've had coffee," he mumbles, tapping his fingers on his guitar. "Too nervous to eat anything."

"You're nervous because you don't have any protein in you," Ella says, and immediately holds up her hand. "And _do not_ make any disgusting jokes. You know what I mean; go eat some toast and peanut butter or something."

"I won't be able to keep it down," George insists. "My stomach feels dodgy enough already, because I've had too much coffee."

"Georgie, you have to take better care of yourself," Ella sighs.

"Don't," says George, and he doesn't want to be short with her but he's nervous enough without Ella starting in on him about his health again. "Not -- not now; don't."

Ella looks tetchy. "I don't want you to faint onstage."

"I'm not going to. I don't think I could faint at this point, or sleep at all." George wiggles his toes in his shoes. "I'm fine. I'm just nervy, and I'm starting to get a headache."

"Fainting is not sleeping!" Ella looks incredulous. "Jamie, tell George to eat some toast."

"Eat some toast, George," says Jamie dutifully. "What Miss Ella wants, she gets."

"Ugh," George groans, but hauls himself out of the chair to go to Craft Services, because Jamie is right.

Maybe if he has just toast, with nothing on it, he'll be able to keep from getting sick. He knows he needs something, to soak up the caffeine or however that works, but anything more substantial than toast might do him in.

When he gets into Craft Services, though, who should be standing at the table fixing a giant sandwich but Louis Tomlinson.

George stops dead, his stomach twisting in surprise so fiercely that he's nearly sick on the floor before he gets hold of himself, arms tight around his stomach like that'll help at all.

Maybe if he backs out slowly --

No such luck. Louis looks up as George is in the doorway, and his face lights up before collapsing in a frown just as quickly.

"Georgie, what's wrong?" Louis sets his plate down on the corner of the table and immediately has George bundled up in a hug. "Are you ill?"

He can't respond, not when he's finally where he wants to be, and he can push his face into Louis' shoulder and wrap his arms around Louis' waist and breathe.

Louis' hands are rubbing firmly in gentle circles over George's back and his mouth is pressing little kisses to the side of George's head and George feels... better. Louis smells like Louis, like lemon and man and fancy cologne and a little bit like Harry, warm and soapy.

"I missed you," George finally chokes out, his eyes closed tight. His stomach even feels more settled.

"Hey, we missed you, too," Louis says. "Y'alright, love?"

George's head jerks up and down in the worst excuse for a nod ever. "I don't feel very good," he says in a whisper. "And I'm nervous, and I couldn't do my solo."

"That's okay," Louis says. "I never did any on the show."

"If I mess up we're going to get sent home. And then I won't be able to see you anymore and they'll all hate me, and I had too much coffee so I don't want to eat anything and I _missed_ you." It's all spilling out now, in broken sentences that George thinks he should probably try to shove back in but he's so tired.

"Hey, you can see us no matter what happens, we told you that. And you should eat if you had too much coffee or you'll get sick onstage and that's not even good if you're Justin Bieber, even he didn't pull that shit off well. And nobody hates you." Louis tips George's face so that their eyes can meet. "Nobody hates you, babe. I promise."

George feels -- sort of like he's falling and Louis is the only thing holding him up right now. "It's too much," he whispers. "Everything's so much."

"But it's not even the final." Louis sounds a little baffled. "What's really wrong?"

"I can't go home now. Not when we've come so far." George pushes his face against Louis' shoulder again. "Not with this performance."

"You won't, love," Louis says. "Really, you won't, and I -- " he cuts himself off. "I think you might be more optimistic if you eat some food."

"Ella told me to eat some toast," George whispers, swallowing hard. "People keep telling me to eat."

"That's because we need you well and fit and full of energy, yeah?" Louis asks, and his hands slip beneath George's jumper to thumb gently at the skin of George's belly. "Because I'd quite like to reunite properly after your brilliant performance, if it's all the same to you."

George wants to kiss Louis then more than he wants to do just about anything else. He doesn't, because he knows he can't, not with so many people around, but he wants to. "I'd like that. I missed you," he repeats, aware of how pathetic he sounds. "I missed you so much."

Louis keeps his hands on George's skin and smiles gently. "Can I please take care of you a bit before you need your hair done? I just want you to be alright and you seem -- not alright, right now."

"Yes," says George. He doesn't want to go back to rehearsals or eat toast or think about how much he's going to mess up. He just wants Louis. He wants Louis to help him stop thinking.

Louis looks a little sad, though. "I don't want to tell you to eat while you're under, though. It doesn't seem fair. So will you agree to eat first, please?"

George's mouth quirks down a little. "Not too much," he says after a moment. "I don't know how much I can."

"That's alright," Louis assures him. "Just toast, like Ella said, yeah?"

"Yeah," George agrees, but he can tell that he's already getting close to that warm floaty place because it's been ages and Louis' hands are warm on his hips. "I had so much coffee already; I think it's eating my stomach."

"You shouldn't have so much on an empty stomach," Louis chides gently. His hands slide up to George's shoulders and squeeze before they guide him over to the table. "That's not helping your nerves."

"But I like coffee."

"I know you do," says Louis, patient as he puts down two slices of bread in the toaster. "But it's got a lot of caffeine in it, and it'll make you fidgety if you have too much."

"I know that," George says, and huffs. "You're doing it again. You're treating me like I'm five years old."

Louis pauses. "I'm sorry; I don't realize when I'm doing it. I think that's just my taking-care-of-people voice."

"No, it's not the voice," George explains, "It's -- when you tell me really obvious things like you think I don't know them. I _know_ how coffee works. That's my thing; I'm the coffee boy."

"If you know how it works, why did you have it on an empty stomach?" Louis' eyebrows pull together. "Do I do it that often?"

"I always drink coffee first thing in the morning," George says. "I just kept having more today because I was nervous. And yeah, you do it a lot. Everybody does it to me. I _know_ how things work."

"I know you know how things work. It's just that sometimes you don't _do_ things the way you need to, or you just -- ignore what you need, you don't take care of yourself." Louis rubs George's shoulders a little and it's obvious he's _trying_ to keep his voice gentle. "People try to tell you how to take care of yourself because you don't do it yourself."

"But nobody else is me," George says. "I'm the one in my body and in my head and I know what I need. Just -- give me some toast, please."

Louis reaches behind himself and plucks the toast from the toaster. He offers it to George, still frowning.

George looks down and turns the toast over in his hands. "I can't even get the words to come out this week. When I try to sing. I open my mouth and nothing happens."

"Nerves." Louis sounds a bit stiff. "Harry used to get them all the time, too. He gave his first solo to Liam."

George blinks. "Really?"

"Really," Louis confirms. "He couldn't do it in rehearsals so we moved things around and Liam took it. Harry kept getting sick when he tried."

George feels a little better at that. At any rate, the toast tastes better in his mouth.

Louis lets out a sigh, and then says, "I'm sorry. About before. I just worry so much about you. I don't mean to make it seem like I think you're incapable of being left alone."

"I mean, I know I didn't do great at showing that," George mumbles. "But I don't _want_ you to worry about me? I want you to think about me! But not like, worry."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Louis asks, beckoning George closer.

George nods and lets Louis put his mouth up to George's ear.

Louis' voice is low and his hand warm when he settles it on the back of George's neck. "I worry about all of the people I like the most," he whispers.

George bites the inside of his cheek. "But worrying makes you unhappy. I need to make you happy. Like... I _need_ to, Louis."

"You do make me happy," Louis says, his eyebrows going all weird, like he's trying to raise them and frown all at once. "Worrying about you makes me happy. It makes me feel like I'm doing something, when I look after you."

A lightbulb goes off in George's head. "It doesn't -- make you sick of me?"

"Of course it doesn't!" exclaims Louis before he deliberately quiets his voice. "No, I _need_ to worry over you, sort of. Like you said you need to make me happy? I need to make sure I'm making you happy, and if I don't worry over you I'll never know."

"Oh." George hadn't actually considered that. He's used to worry being something that distracts his parents from eight other kids who need their attention, including the brother George refuses to disappoint tonight. "Well, just don't act like I'm stupid or too young, and I think we'll have a deal."

"I'll try," Louis promises. "You'll tell me if I am?"

"I will," George says. "Probably not happily."

"I'd expect no less." Louis gives his hair a ruffle, then looks at his hand. "That was a bit patronizing, wasn't it?" he mutters.

"No, I like having my hair touched," George says earnestly. "That was fine."

Louis' smile returns. "Good, because I like touching it." He repeats the motion, but this time he scritches at George's scalp and behind his ears.

George purrs and tilts his head so Louis can reach more of him. _This_ is what he wanted -- just Louis, touching him, and both of them happy,.

"Finished with your toast?" Louis asks, his eyes closing just a little bit as he lets George's hair slip through his fingers.

George makes a quiet, affirmative noise, too busy nosing at Louis' wrist to manage much more than that.

Louis laughs through his nose and gives George's hair a last ruffle. "Do you need to head in to get your hair done right away or do we have a bit of time?"

"We have time." George takes a moment to think about that, because he thinks Louis will like it if he thinks about it even if he knows he'll do whatever Louis wants him to. "We do have time," he says again, slowly. "I need to get back to finish rehearsals with the new parts soon."

"Hmmm." Louis hums and steps in closer to George. "How much time?"

It's hard not to just kiss him. George has missed kissing him. "Twenty minutes?" he hazards at a guess. "I still need my hair done."

Louis hums thoughtfully again and then grins brightly. "Did Harry show you the magic secret sex cupboard?"

"Yeah, a few weeks ago," George says. "Do you want me to wait there?"

"I do," Louis confirms, stroking a knuckle along George's cheekbone. "Not for very long, I'll be along in a minute or two."

George nods and trills a little through his spine. _Finally_.

"Go now, love," urges Louis, and he squeezes George's shoulder before he steps away. "Two minutes and I'll come for you." He smiles a little, dirty and quick, and George finds the double meaning in his words without even trying.

He sucks in a quick breath and heads off for the cupboard. He's almost skipping.

It's jarring how much better he feels just from Louis. Louis hasn't even touched him yet, and George's stomach feels settled (though some of that might be the toast) and his head doesn't hurt as much, and he feels less like everything is terrible.

 _How_ he's going to handle eight months alone... he genuinely doesn't know.

Louis is true to his word and doesn't make George wait long before he slips into the little cupboard, closing the door behind him and looking hungrily at George in the dim bulb that's the only light in the room.

"I don't even know what I want to do to you first," Louis admits quietly. "There's too much."

"Anything," George answers, and he licks his suddenly dry lips. "I want -- anything, everything."

Louis steps up close enough to touch his lips to George's neck as his fingers slip beneath the hem of George's shirt to tuck just barely into the waistband of his trousers.

George feels like he's shivering from all of the _want_ in his body. It's been so long since Louis' touched him, and he wants so much it almost hurts.

"Hey," Louis murmurs. "Calm down, love. Can't lose yourself right before your show."

It takes a moment for Louis' words to make it into his head, but once they do, he shudders. He wants to let go, and just float off, but Louis is right and he has to do the show soon.

George nods. "I know, it's just -- I want you so much."

"I know you do." Louis' fingers thread into George's hair, cradling his head as he presses kisses to his jawline. "I want you, too. It's been forever."

"Then don't tease," George requests.

"I'm not teasing." Louis strokes one of his hands down George's neck. "I just want to calm you down a little, does that sound alright?"

George groans a little and pushes his hardening dick up against Louis' hip. "Yeah, please."

Louis grips George's chin and tilts his head up to look into his eyes, his thumb pressing down where George's lip is a little tender because he's been biting it all day.

"You have to stay here, though," Louis says firmly. "You can't go down. Your boys are depending on you."

George licks the tip of Louis' thumb and nods, the sound of his panting loud in the silence. "I can do it. I can stay up."

Louis' eyes go a little dark. He lets George nip at his thumb for a moment, mouth soft, before taking it away and scrubbing his fingers through George's hair again.

He's always loved people playing with his hair. He's not hairsprayed yet so it's just clean and soft and Louis' fingers go through it easily.

Louis pulls George's head down just enough to slot their lips together, and _oh_ , George's life has not contained nearly enough of kissing Louis Tomlinson.

It's not like kissing Harry, except for how there's still lips, and a little bit of tongue. Louis' mouth isn't as soft, for one thing, and he puts his whole body into kissing, leaning against George and rubbing his neck with one hand as he uses the other to tilt George's head the way he wants it. Louis' kisses are more teeth than tongue, and all George can do is slide his hands onto Louis' hips and try to keep up. There are little stings where George's tongue will catch on one of Louis' teeth and he likes that, jolts a little every time it happens and has to breathe out into Louis' mouth.

Louis pushes up George's shirt so he can get his hand under it, splayed over George's chest so he can measure his heartbeat with his palm.

It's going quickly and he knows it, can feel the _thud-thud-thud_ pounding in his ears as he's so thoroughly kissed. Kissing Harry is a very different thing from this. It's not any better or worse, it's just different. Harry's got a system of giving and taking in kissing, and Louis, Louis is much more like George is _being_ kissed, like Louis has the whole thing under control.

George likes that. He wants to feel like he doesn't have to be in control for a moment.

He still feels like himself. It's just an easier self to be, right now.

Louis tweaks George's nipple lightly. "You're smiling," he says in a low, ragged voice, biting George's lower lip again. "Feel a bit better?"

"Yeah, I am, thanks," George murmurs. "Kiss me more?"

"I'll kiss you as much as you want." Louis thumbs at the corner of George's mouth to make him part his lips a little more. "Gorgeous," he adds softly before he leans back in to kiss him again.

George moans a little into the kiss before pulling back to ask, "Can we kiss during sex again, then? Please? I don't think not-kissing has the same effect on me it does on Harry."

Louis looks a little torn. "It's not all for you, it's for me as well," he murmurs. "I don't want to lose control."

George pouts a little. "Can _Harry_ kiss me during, then?"

A smile, and Louis kisses George's nose. "If he wants, sure," he says quietly. "It's up to him and you."

George smiles at that, soft heat pooling in his chest, and tucks his face into Louis' neck to bite at the join of his shoulder a little.

Louis laughs, cupping the back of George's head. "Vicious little thing, aren't you?" he says. "Biting everyone all the time."

"I like it," George says petulantly. "Feels good."

"I know you do. That's why I haven't muzzled you yet, puppy," Louis replies, kissing George's ear. "Not too hard, though; be gentle."

"I've seen pictures of you with marks," George says. "It looks good on you. Looks good on everyone, but -- really looks good on you."

Louis hums. "Harry's a bit bitey as well," he murmurs. "So am I, to be fair. I leave lovebites on everything that's mine. My boys, my Harry, my George."

George whimpers at that and grinds a little harder on Louis' hip.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" asks Louis. He tugs the collar of George's t-shirt to the side and smudges a kiss against an old bruise, faded almost completely. "We'll have to give you some new ones tonight."

"Yes," George hisses, and his hands tighten on Louis' waist. "Show I'm yours."

"That's what your collar is for, remember?" Louis says gently.

"I like the bruises." George nuzzles up into Louis' neck. "Can I still have bruises?"

Louis pulls down the neck of George's shirt to show where one of the lovebites has faded into just a pale gold-green smudge on his skin.

"They're almost all gone," whispers George. "Don't even hurt when I press on them anymore."

Louis touches his teeth to George's collarbone and bites, sucking sharply to darken the old bruise again.

It draws a whine from George's throat, and his head tips back to let Louis have the room he needs.

While he's sucking at George's skin, Louis' hand slides down to cup the bulge in George's trousers and squeeze lightly, assessing.

George's hips jerk a little, a soft _please_ the only thing he says before he bites his lip again to feel the sting of it.

"No, no, no," Louis murmurs, licking lightly over the bruise as it flushes red before settling. "I just want to see how much you like it." He fastens his mouth over the spot again.

Louis' mouth is warm and wet and _sucking_ , sucking to the point where it's like the ache in the place his mouth's touching is spreading along George's skin in little throbbing bursts of soreness.

George tries to rock into Louis' hand just to get more pressure, but Louis moves it away and tucks his hand onto George's waist beneath his jumper instead.

He's so hard it hurts and Louis isn't stopping, and now he's not touching his cock at all, but his mouth is still on George's collarbone and every so often George can feel the sting of a little bite from Louis' sharp teeth against it.

"Louis?" George whimpers. "Need -- please get me off, I can't go onstage like this, I'll people's eyes out if they have an HD telly."

Louis laughs, his breath hot against the mark he's made on George's skin. "I don't think that's how it works, babe," he says in a voice that's low and smoky and teasing.

"No, I think it is," George whines. "I'm _so_ hard, Louis, and it's been ages, fucking ages."

"You've wanked since we've been away, haven't you?" Louis asks, sliding his hand around to press against George's hard-on like he's considering it.

George's lip pokes out and he pushes against Louis' hand gratefully. "Not the same."

"What if I did leave you like this?" Louis whispers. "So hard and all because of me. Everyone in your band would know."

George's eyes go round and his breath comes faster. "I -- but everyone would see, everyone who watches, and -- someone might _say_ and then -- embarrassing, I don't -- "

"Shh, shh," Louis murmurs, pressing a kiss just below George's ear. "Shh, I know you don't like feeling embarrassed, I wouldn't do that to you."

Louis hums against George's skin. "But I like for people to know what's mine. What should we do?"

"I'm wearing your bracelet," whispers George hopefully. "I haven't taken it off."

"I'm so glad," Louis whispers. "It looks so good on you. But I want people to see how gorgeous you are when you're turned on and your cock is hard and your eyes are so wide and I want them to know that they can't have you."

George swallows. "I'm yours, nobody else's, they can't have me." He takes a deep breath, trying to find words. "All for you."

Louis flicks open George's trousers with his thumb. "Show me."

It takes a moment for George's limbs to move the way he needs them to, but he eventually gets his shirt up so that he can show Louis as he draws down his flies and pushes his trousers down to show Louis how hard he is, the head of his cock shiny and slick.

Louis rumble-groans appreciatively. "That's so pretty, George. Can you touch yourself for me? Get yourself off?"

"Yes," whispers George, his free hand sliding down his stomach to touch, gently at first, and then shoving his boxers down more so he can get his hand around his cock.

Louis' eyes glint in the dim light, following the movement of George's hand carefully.

It's so much different with Louis watching him. More intense. George can nearly feel Louis' eyes on him and it makes him want to show off, give Louis a performance.

So he performs: he looks up at Louis through his eyelashes and lets his tongue dart out to wet his lip; rewards himself with a soft moan when his palm rolls over the stretched-tight head of his cock where, if he were alone, he'd be silent.

"Good," Louis whispers, one of his hands pressing against the wall beside George's head. It brings him close to George without him touching George at all, just close enough that George can feel his body heat.

George's second hand pushes his sweater up so that enough of his stomach is bare that when he comes, it'll just land on skin (George hopes) -- but Louis takes it as an invitation, and he flattens one hand gently, almost restraining, over George's belly, in the high-up flat between his ribs and just beneath his heart. It makes George's breath stutter, the softness of it, just a gentle pressure. It's the only place Louis is touching him and George feels it all over himself.

He doesn't even realize that he's whispered _oh, fuck_ before his hand speeds up, slap-sliding over his cock roughly with just enough slick from his precome to make it so Louis can hear.

That sound and the way they're breathing are the only noises in the room, even though George can hear the occasional voice faintly from outside the door. It feels -- intimate, with Louis' eyes and hand on him and neither of them saying a word.

Louis keeps not speaking, and George keeps chasing it, trying to get off, but without being able to go down, it's hard to find that edge to drop off. 

Louis' thumb strokes softly over George's skin. "You're so gorgeous, George, love. Harry and I want to take you at the same time tonight, d'you like that? Get you totally overwhelmed and fill you up?"

George feels a spike of want, but there's caution there as well. "Won't that hurt?" he asks in a whisper, trying to focus on Louis' voice.

"We can work up to it," Louis murmurs. "I can't even do that yet, I meant... I want Harry to fuck your arse while I fuck your face. That's what I want tonight. Could you do that for me? And maybe after, I'll fuck you proper again and Harry can lick it all out."

"Oh," George sighs, squeezing himself a little harder so the thought of that doesn't set him off. "Oh, please, I want to."

"Good." Louis makes a pleased little sound through his nose. He pauses. "Would you want that? Eventually? Me and Harry in -- is that something you want?"

George lets out a soft noise. He can't tell if Louis sounds intrigued, or upset. "Yes," he says after a moment, because he _does_. "I -- a lot, maybe."

"Fuck," Louis whispers. "I -- can you come, please, so I can clean you up? I don't even -- _fuck_ , George, really? That's, you'd be willing to do that?"

Louis seems stunned, or amazed, or, George doesn't know, but it's good. "Yeah, I really want to," he moans, letting his hand speed up. "I really, really, so much at once and I _want_ it."

Louis pushes his face into George's neck. "God, what are you like." 

George can't answer around his groan, his head thunking back against the wall while he spills over his stomach.

"Perfect," Louis whispers, and sinks to his knees so he can smudge kisses over George's belly and softening cock, licking away all of the mess. "You're so good for us, George, I can't even believe you're real."

"I was last time I checked," George shakily jokes, his thighs still twitching a little with aftershocks. "Real as can be."

Louis shakes his head and stands with unsurprising grace. He gently fixes George's trousers and jumper. "I don't see how that’s true."

"Promise I am." George kisses Louis' mouth, because it's been too long since he has even if it's only been minutes.

He licks Louis' lip as he pulls away. "You taste like me."

"I like it when I taste like you." Louis smiles at him, his hair still -- unbelievably -- in place. His mouth's a little pinker than normal and he's flushed in the face, but otherwise he looks impeccable. George can't imagine he can say the same.

Louis winks and thumbs George's cheek, right in the dimple. "You look rather fucked, love. Go on out there and impress everyone."

"Can I have another kiss before I go?" asks George, putting his best pout on. He's been practicing, without anything else to do.

Louis leans up on his toes and bites soundly at George's bottom lip, teeth tugging into the plush of it so that it will be red and swollen onstage.

The thought makes George moan quietly, and he wavers on his feet when Louis pulls back again.

"Remember that," Louis whispers to him, smoothing down George's shirt and then backing away toward the door. He opens it and gives George a nod before he slips through.

George waits for the count of 100 before he leaves, too, and heads back into the hair room. His band mates are in the room, all propped up in chairs, and Harry's eating an apple, chatting to Jaymi. His eyes widen a little when he spots George.

"I see he found you," Harry mutters, quiet so it's probably only George and Jaymi who can hear him.

George blushes and takes his usual chair. "Don't know what you're talking about."

He can hear JJ muffling laughter but holds his head high as Jamie begins to work on his hair.

"I think," Jamie says, "Since we're running a bit short on time but you've already started the styling, we're gonna bullshit some bedhead and call it 'sexture.'"

"We could just call it a hairstyle, I don't see why it has to have a name," protests George.

"When you have your own salon, you can give people nameless, boring barnets, then, George."

George wrinkles his nose, but settles down, letting Jamie do his job. He's the expert, after all.

"I was wondering where you were," he mumbles at Harry, casting him a glance without moving his head.

"I was talking to the J's!" Harry sounds pleased with himself. "I'm changing my name to Jerry."

George raises his eyebrows. "Are you? I don't think it suits you very well. You don't even look like a mouse. Was Jerry the mouse, or was it Tom?" he muses.

"Well, I already know a Tom," Harry says. "It'd be confusing to have two Toms."

"You look more like a cat than a mouse," George challenges, relishing the opportunity to have a normal conversation with Harry that isn't over the phone or through texts. "You're too tall to be a mouse."

"Everybody always thinks I look like a cat," Harry grumps. "I don't see it, myself. I'm a human, for one thing, and for another, I'm not a cat."

"It's the face you make when you laugh, I think," offers George with a grin. Really, he thinks more of it is the way Harry likes being pet as much as George does, but he can't just _say_ that.

Liam Payne can, though, and he gives Harry's head a scratch as he passes into the hair room. 

He gives George a mild look. "Do you know where Ella is, by any chance?"

"Er." George blinks, a bit thrown. "She was here last time I saw her, but she's not anymore, obviously. I can text her?" he offers.

"No, that's alright." Liam looks sheepish. "I don't my hair done, so I can just wander until I find her."

"She'll be around, maybe practicing in one of the stairwells. She likes the acoustics there." George smiles at him, and then winces as Jamie tugs a snarl out of his hair.

"Cheers, mate." Liam has a nice smile. It's very disarming, not that George was like to be armed.

"Tell her I say hello when you do find her," Harry instructs, rubbing his hand over the buzzed hair on Liam's head. It looks like it'd be fun to do, if George was creepier and had an interest in rubbing Liam Payne's head.

George sighs wistfully. "I should shave all my hair off. Like Liam's."

"No," Harry instructs. "Don't cut your hair."

"But there's so much of it!" George and Jamie both cry.

"I like it when it's like that." Harry smiles, and it dimples his cheek, and it'd look almost innocent if it wasn't for his eyes. "It looks good."

"Keep your filth out of my studio, Styles." Jaymi gives George's hair a particularly rough tweak. "Our Georgie may have your general hair volume, but he's innocent and sweet and I won't let you bring him to your dark side."

It sounds like Jaymi's just choked on something, and George is sure JJ's face isn't ordinarily that color.

"Don't worry about me," George says, staunchly ignoring them. "I'm incorruptible. I'm just a monkey, after all."

"Don't monkeys present potential mates with their throbbing red bums?" Josh asks lightly. "And isn't there that other type of monkey who fight each other to death with their massive erections?"

George is actually starting to get concerned about the noises Jaymi's making. "I'm a peaceful monkey," he insists. "I wouldn't beat anyone to death."

"No, you never beat any massive erections," Harry assures him.

George thinks mournfully that everyone's out to get him as Jaymi finally lets out the laughter he wants to, muffled around his knuckles but audible enough that George wishes he had something to throw at him.

"Stop embarrassing little Georgie," Jamie chides. "Look how red he is. He's a good boy, aren't you, George?"

"Oh, he's a very good boy," Harry agrees before George can say anything. "Yeah, he's really good."

"Shut up, Styles, you besmirch everyone with your filth," Jamie says. He sounds fond enough, but it still rankles George. Harry doesn't deserve the reputation he has.

Harry just holds his hands up in truce, one still holding the core of his apple. "I'll take my filth elsewhere, then. I should find the boys anyway." He gives George a soft smile. "See you later, though."

George smiles a bit and settles back to let Jamie finish his hair.

Everything's a mad rush after that of the rest of the acts getting their hair and makeup done and random members of One Direction coming in and out of the room. George is pretty sure Niall Horan gave him a hug and said, "Alright there, buddy?" but it happened so quickly he's not sure, and he doesn't know why Niall Horan would hug him, so maybe not.

He slips off with the Js while Harry's getting something done to his face that he looks very grumpy about, because they need to try and get another rehearsal of the song in with the parts switched around for any of them to feel comfortable doing it onstage.

George feels -- he feels like a fraud, in the camouflage blazer, with his Remembrance Day poppy on the lapel. He feels like... if he can't sing for his brother, then he can't say he's remembering him properly. And he knows that isn't true, because he's _talked_ to Will today and Mum said that Will would even be in the audience tomorrow because he was able to get leave, but -- George just really, really needs everything to go well.

They sound alright, which is good. George knows things can sound really different onstage than when they're just rehearsing in a corridor, but their harmonies are tight and it sounds much better with Josh doing the opening lines rather than George opening his mouth and sort of squeaking.

He still has his guitar, though. He can cuddle that when he gets nervous. And Harry and Louis will be there, in the wings.

As long as George keeps that in mind, he really thinks he can do this. He thinks he can at least get through the song and it'll sound good. If he thinks too much about everything else, he'll get all panicky again, and he'll be no use like that.

He's more nervous now than he was for the first show. There's no reason for it, really; he just needs to -- to get a handle on himself. He can do that.

They're not going early on in the show, which is a bit -- George likes it when they go first or second or so. It gives him less time to stress about the performance and more time to stress about the result. Stressing about the result is easier because he can't do anything about that, it's out of his hands once they've finished their song.

All he can do so late into the show is give all of the other contestants a bit of a cheeky cuddle for the cameras while they're waiting in the wings. And that's fine. George does love a bit of cheeky cuddling.

Well, George loves a bit of most cuddling, to be fair. Surprise attack cuddlings are good because they make people laugh, and George likes making people happy almost as much as he likes cuddling.

It always works particularly well on James. George doesn't think James has had very much cuddling in his life (at least, pre-rooming with Rylan) and that makes him just sad enough to want to make up for it.

District 3 have got a slow piano ballad thing that scares George, because they always do well when they do slow piano ballad things, and George isn't stupid; he knows that the two boy bands are being played off against each other. He just has to hope they do better.

Ella's performance goes brilliantly, of course, because Ella's brilliant, and George gives her a happy head-nuzzling snuggle during Rylan's performance.

Rylan's performance is... Rylan. And the Spice Girls. They spend more time, energy, and costuming money on Rylan every week than the entire rest of the show, and sometimes George thinks that's a little unfair but at the same time, who doesn't like to watch Rylan?

(Even Gary likes watching Rylan now, and that scares George, too.)

He has to stop being scared now except he's more scared than he's been all day. His guitar is solid and familiar in his hands, and George curls his arms around the wooden frame of it once more before they have to go out there.

The song goes okay. He forgets to change keys on the guitar, but he remembers to do it singing, so that's fine, and Jaymi sings like Jaymi.

George does think if they make it any farther, it's all down to Jaymi. He'd never say it out loud because that's a lot of pressure to put on a person, and they're all _talented_ , he knows that, but Jaymi's voice is something else. George can see people wanting to vote for Jaymi's voice.

Jaymi has the best voice left in the show show, if he's honest. He's even better than Ella, and much better than Jahmene and Chris. George thinks, sometimes, while Jaymi is sleeping, that if he'd auditioned solo, he'd take home the whole prize in his pocket.

When they come offstage after the judges' comments (mostly good, though Gary seemed a bit confused over whether he liked it or not for a moment) George is shaking, nearly head to toe and he has to take several deep breaths before he can feel all his fingers again.

And then it's Jahmene, who George can't even hear over his own blood in his head, and then it will be One Direction.

George hasn't seen One Direction perform up close, only on telly and the internet. The crowd is so much louder than they get even when James is on, and George can barely hear himself think when James is on.

They sit down on bar stools, which is -- weird, if it's Live While We're Young. That song is basically about the opposite of sitting.

And then the opening chords start, strummed out on an acoustic guitar and George has to swallow, hard, because they're not singing Live While We're Young at all. They're singing Little Things.

He -- heard it, briefly, when it leaked. They'd downloaded it and Josh had started it up and George heard it, but after a few lines, very much Did Not Listen. It isn't that it's a bad song. It's a lovely song, the melody's really fantastic and whoever's doing the guitar is really very good at it, but the words... the words are hard for him to hear.

He can't avoid it now, not when they're all watching and the song's being sung right in front of him. It's like he can't do anything but listen to it and he doesn't want to, not here and now, not when everybody can see him.

The thing is.

The thing is.

The thing is, that it's bullshit. It's bullshit that Liam Payne would like backfat dimples or that _anyone couldn't_ like smiling-eye crinkles; that bit's just silly and George suspects that it's supposed to remind people of Louis, and that seems mean, right on the heels of calling someone fat.

Louis isn't fat. He never has been, and he doesn't _get it_.

Nobody in One Direction _gets it_. No matter how prettily they sing or what they're saying in their song it's all lies, because George has lived being fat and nobody in that band would've looked twice at him. Not Harry and not Louis, if he'd still been fat when he'd been standing in that club, he would've stayed by that bar all night, and nobody would've come up to him.

He probably wouldn't have even made it past his audition. People didn't like him when he was fat. He didn't like him when he was fat. And Harry Styles definitely wouldn't have liked him when he was fat.

So honestly, when Harry sings about loving that -- "you always have to squeeze into your jeans," well, fuck that, anyone whose jeans are as tight as Harry Styles' has to squeeze into them, that's --

"Hey," Jaymi murmurs in George's ear. "Come back. Come on, Georgie, you're _fine_."

He's not fine. George isn't fine. He isn't fine and everyone can probably see, everyone can probably tell he's not alright and they're going to laugh at him and talk about him behind his back just like they used to.

"Hey." Jaymi's voice is firm. "It's just a dumb pop song, George. They didn't write it. They probably aren't even thinking about the words. It doesn't change anything real, okay, and you're gorgeous and they love you. It doesn't matter."

They don't love George. George isn't -- he's not fat now but he is on the inside, he's still fat and unlovable and ugly and he can lose as much weight as he wants but it's not going to change that the only reason people pretend to like him now is because he's skinny.

And good at sex. He's mostly just good at sex, and that's what Harry and Louis like.

People like blowjobs even if they don't like him, and he's known that since he did still have to _squeeze into his fucking jeans_.

"Hey, hey, hey," Jaymi whispers, and there are tight arms around George. "Stop making that noise, they'll hear you all the way onstage. Come on, George, snap out of it. I -- you're _fine_."

"I -- know," George wheezes. "I'm -- not -- _broken_. I just -- they're -- _lying_."

"You have to breathe properly, come on, Georgie, Gorgeous Georgie," Jaymi says in his ear, tucking George's face against his shoulder. "It's okay, you just need to breathe for me."

"Hate that name," George mumbles. "Hate that name."

"Okay, I want call you that, you can be George." Jaymi rubs George's back gently, and he doesn't let go. Why isn't he letting go? People don't care about George. "I think you are gorgeous, though. It doesn't matter, love, I promise it doesn't matter to me and it doesn't matter to them."

"Then why are they singing about it?" George knows that his nose is running a little and he probably looks hysterical, which is embarrassing, _which he hates_.

"Because it's the song they were given for their single and it's by Ed Sheeran who probably knows fuck-all about anything." Jaymi sounds very firm, and sure of himself. "You're alright, I just want you to breathe and calm down a little, okay?"

George turns so he can bury his face in Jaymi's neck. Sometimes, and he hates this, too, the only thing that can make him calm down is to cry a bit.

"Shh, you're okay," Jaymi says softly, one of his hand tucking up into George's hair, hairsprayed to death to keep it looking more like someone else's than his own because nothing about himself is good enough for The X Factor.

"It's just, I have to keep people liking me," George mumbles, "And you and Ella don't want that."

"Me and Ella like you loads." Jaymi's hand is still rubbing circles on George's back. "We all like you. Everyone here does, and it's not just because you're so fanciable."

"Stop that," George mumbles, and bites Jaymi's shoulder. It's not as kind as it usually is.

Jaymi winces a little, but he still doesn't let go. "Sorry," he says quietly instead.

George keeps hiding his face even when the song ends and he can hear Dermot. They're probably all laughing at him.

He can't hear any laughing, but he knows it's there. Jaymi's only being nice to him because -- because Jaymi's nice, but he's probably going to laugh about him later.

Probably Olly was only fine with Jaymi getting off with George because they laughed about it later. That's probably what Harry and Louis spent the last two weeks doing on tour, too, just -- loving each other and not loving George.

Jaymi's rocking him a little bit now, humming something in his ear. It's not Little Things, that's all George knows, so he latches onto it and tries to focus on the melody of that instead of the lines from the stupid song playing in his head.

But the back of George mind prickles that if he tries harder, maybe he'll be perfect for Harry, like the song says. If he just -- he'll go to the gym twice a day, maybe, and that might help. He can do that.

This is why he hates when people keep telling him when to eat, because -- they don't understand, they don't get that he can't because he'll go back to looking how he used to and they'll lose the competition because he won't be cute and little anymore, and Harry and Louis won't want him anymore, and George doesn't think he could take that.

And all of the girls on Tumblr and Twitter, they found those _fucking_ old Bebo photos of him and they -- it's a _meme_ now. Fat Fetus George Shelley.

Jaymi's talking to him now, in words instead of humming, and it sounds like _do you want to see them?_ and _can you talk to them, before we do Xtra?_

George shakes his head, so Jaymi leads him away and gets him a big glass of water with lemon from Craft Services and fluffs through George’s hair to fix it back to where Jamie had left it.

His eyes feel swollen and red, and he hopes they don't look that way on camera because he doesn't want to have to explain what just happened. He doesn't want to talk to Harry or Louis for probably the first time since they met. He just wants his onesie and sort of a nap.

He likes burying himself in his onesie. It's huge, and he can pretend that he's very small when he's wearing it.

Jaymi's kept everyone else away from him so far, somehow, even while they were walking here people would veer off in the other direction. George doesn't know what look was on Jaymi's face but it must have been frightening.

Xtra passes the way it always does. Caroline makes fun of one of his tweets. 

Just as well.

It's weird how all day, all week George has been waiting to go back to Harry's massive house, to feel wanted and sexy and good about himself, and one three minute piece of music later he'd rather just go back home to Bristol. At least people there were honest about only liking him because he gives good head.

He'll be back there Monday anyway. He can go back to Costa and smile at girls like he wants them to earn tips. They'll be out of the competition by this time tomorrow, and Harry and Louis will be gone for eight months of next year.

He's not going to kid himself that they'll remember him while they're off being actual superstars for more than half the year. He wouldn't expect them to. They'll find someone else who sucks dick as well as he does, and who wants to take them both at the same time, and Louis will look at them like they're gorgeous and call them perfect and make them feel like they're Worth Something.

As soon as he's off camera, George digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and counts to ten over, and over, and over in his head.

Jaymi's still touching him, his hand on George's back. Nobody comes up to talk to George and he's grateful because none of the words he could make would be anything anyone would want to hear.

He can hear Greg and Micky and Dan talking to someone with an Irish accent, trumpeting about how it was their best performance yet and they're definitely back in the running to win. Fanfuckingtastic.

Louis and Harry will be looking for him now, wanting to take him home, or maybe they've already found him and they've seen he's a basketcase and they've decided they don't want to take him home after all and they're through with him, and they don't want him anymore, because he's just not worth all the hassle.

"Hey! Are you ready to -- what's wrong?"

Or they've just found him and now they're going to decide all that. George counts louder in his head, grinding the heels of his palms into his closed eyes to stave off any more tears because he's cried enough today and he doesn't want it to happen when they can _see_ him.

The smell of Harry is suddenly all over him and then Harry's hands are, too, and arms, and the tickle of his cloud of hair as he tucks his face up into George's ear and murmurs _what's wrong, love, what happened?_

George doesn't want Harry to make him feel better, but it's like his breathing starts to even out just because he can smell Harry's soapy-clean scent. George hates it. He hates that anyone can make him feel better because he's not a thing to be fixed.

"Nothing happened," George mutters. "Are you going home with Louis?"

Harry's mouth frowns against George's ear, he can feel it. "I thought you were coming with us. Do you not want to, anymore? We've missed you."

George refuses to cry at that. " _Why_?"

"What?" Harry sounds confused, like he honestly doesn't know why George would think they _wouldn't_ miss him. "Because we, we've been gone, and we missed you. What do you mean why?"

George mutters something Harry can't hear and Harry squeezes George's shoulder, so George repeats it. "You can get head _anywhere_."

"Yeah," says Harry slowly. "I didn't say I missed your mouth, I missed _you_. Well, I missed your mouth, too, but that's more of a bonus, really. You don't have to use it if you don't want to?"

"Then why would you want me to come with you?" George scoffs.

"Because we missed you, like I said." Harry's nosing along George's hairline now, and still hugging him. He's warm and he still smells like Harry. "We don't have to do anything like that if you don't want to. I just thought you did, from what Louis was telling me. We just want you with us."

George's lip twitches and then he can't hold it back. "Because I have to squeeze into my jeans? With all of my backfat dimples?"

" _Oh_ ," says Harry all soft and George is expecting him to finally let go but he doesn't. He just breathes out against George's neck. "Oh, the -- oh. Is that why you're upset? Because of the song?"

"No," George lies. Doesn't lie, exactly.

"What are you upset about, then? You're upset about something." Harry kisses the side of George's neck. "Jaymi looks like he's ready to kill the next person who says anything to you."

George swallows. He doesn't know how to explain; it's not the song, it's the lie behind it, and hearing Harry sing it and not even think, and it's how Ella and Jaymi have been watching every bite that goes into his mouth for the last two weeks and his mum's been calling to bother him about coming home for a Sunday roast next weekend and how that assumes he won't _already be living back at home again_ , in his stupid fucking -- the same bedroom he's had since he was Fat Fetus George Shelley.

"You're lying," is all he can think to say. "You're -- It's a lie, every time you sing that song, you're _lying_."

Harry frowns with his entire face. "What are you talking about?"

Of course Harry doesn't understand. He wouldn't. He's always been like this, probably, unnaturally pretty and lithe and loved. "People like you don't fall in love with people like that. _People who have to squeeze into their jeans_. You're lying, and you say they're perfect but they're not and you're _lying_."

"But I'm not." Harry sounds genuinely confused and a little pinched. "I just love... people, I don't think about like, what they look like, really. If I'm attracted to them, I just am."

"If I looked like I did a year ago you wouldn't have a clue who I was." George has to swallow or he's going to actually be sick. "I'm not -- this isn't how I'm -- _you wouldn't care about me_."

"But that's just hypothetical," Harry says, "And it's probably not true. You're -- I can't -- I don't know what you want me to say. I know you _now_ , and I want you, and I, you know."

George shakes his head, and his eyes hurt, and Harry's not telling the truth. If George was fat again, Harry wouldn't want him anymore. Neither would Louis.

"Georgie, I don't -- I thought you understood now that we care about so much," Harry whispers. "I thought you, like, got it now, basically, that... I don't know. Please come back with us? We just missed you. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

It isn't that George doesn't _want_ to do anything, it's just that -- What if that really is all, and they just want to have sex with him and that's it? It was alright when that's all it was, just George getting fucked every so often but it's different now. He cares now, about them and about how they feel about him.

"I don't have to do anything?" he asks slowly, curling his hands into fists against his eyes. “If I don’t want?”

He peeks out around his fingers, and Harry looks unspeakably sad. "No. Never."

He leans in and kisses George's forehead, quickly, and George -- _believes_ him. He believes Harry won't make him do anything if he doesn't want to.

He sniffs, loudly, and it makes his head hurt a little, but he nods. "Okay," whispers George. "Okay, I'll go with you."

"Okay," Harry repeats. "D'you want to get anything from the hotel?"

George still wants his onesie. "Monkey," he mumbles, resting his head on Harry's shoulder. "It makes me feel small."

Harry sighs lowly. "Alright. We, erm, when we were in America, we saw a onepiece that was a, like a King Kong type one, a gorilla with a little Empire State Building on the front? We bought you that, if you want."

They thought about him, even while they were in America. They thought about George. "That sounds nice," he whispers, and his voice is all croaky and quiet. "I'd like that."

"Okay," Harry murmurs. "And we bought you a coffee mug for our kitchen, too, that has your name on. Just thought it was cute."

"You didn't have to do that." George presses his nose into Harry's neck, where he smells like soap and sweat and Harry.

"I know." Harry rubs George's back. "We wanted to."

"I missed you," George says, and then he coughs to clear his throat a little. "A lot, while you were gone, I missed you."

"Okay." Harry pauses. "Why?"

It's a hard question to sum up in words. George understands a little why Harry was having trouble. "Because I like you," he concludes, wiping the backs of his hands over his eyes.

"Okay," Harry murmurs. "Just because of what I look like?"

George swallows, hard. "No," he whispers back.

"Is it because of how I fuck?" Harry asks softly. "Is that the only reason you like me?"

"No." George can see where this is going. "But it's different."

He can see on Harry's face that he's about to say _it's not different_ , and George doesn't want to hear it. So he just gives Harry a big smile.

That always makes people relax, and it always makes people stop what they're saying, or it has ever since he got cheekbones.

Harry doesn't smile back, though, and just rubs over George's back thoughtfully. "Come on, if you'd like. We can find Louis."

"I missed him too," says George. "I saw him earlier. Where's he gone?"

"I think he's talking to Ella with Liam," Harry says. "That was his plan. He wants to fix them up."

" _Really_?" George asks, unsure of whether he should be enthused or concerned about this. "He has a plan?"

"Well, he has as much a plan as Louis ever does," Harry says, equivocating.

"Oh." George smiles, or tries to. It's harder when it's supposed to be real instead of one of his I'm-cute-don't-hate me smiles. "That's nice. He seems nice. Liam."

"He is." Harry sounds proud whenever he talks about the other One Direction boys. George would love to make Josh, JJ, and Jaymi as proud as Liam and Niall and Zayn make Harry.

"Ella thinks he's cute. She didn't like that I told him that." George grabs Harry's hand quickly, just for a moment, he tells himself. Just to know he can.

Harry squeezes onto George's hand, and he can't let go.

It's nice.

George feels a little better. Not good, still, but a little better. Like he can breathe a bit easier.

"Well, you're lucky then that Liam rather likes being called cute." Harry's thumb is gentle as it rubs over the length of George's hand.

"He is cute," George agrees. "I mean, not in a, I don't think _I_ would, even if, which, no."

Harry laughs gently. "I know what you mean."

"Good. I'm glad." George can talk now, without feeling like he's going to cry or be sick. That's an improvement, he thinks.

When they find Louis, it's clear that he can tell right off the bat that George has been crying.

He doesn't say anything obvious about it, but his eyes widen and then go narrowed and assessing, and he sums up his conversation with Liam and Ella quickly and smoothly. It makes George's head spin, how good Louis is at getting to where he wants to be.

Louis comes over and rubs his hands over George's arms. "Are you alright?"

George nods, because he thinks Louis won't like it very much if George isn't alright.

"Are you really?" Louis' voice is very soft, not at all like it is when he's in interviews. His real voice, or at least the voice he uses with George and Harry, is somewhere totally different.

It's really sweet, and he's not even doing the thing where he treats George like a child. George abruptly wants to cry again, so instead he blinks a few times and slowly replies, "Better."

"Okay," Louis says. He squeezes George's forearms twice. "What happened that upset you so much?"

"I don't want to talk about it," says George, shaking his head before Louis' even finished his sentence.

"Is it something I need to know?" Louis asks, one eyebrow up. "Does it change the plan for tonight?"

George remembers what he'd said earlier, what Louis had said he wanted to do and now George doesn't want to do it. He looks down, more ashamed of himself than he already was. Sex is all he's really good at and now he doesn't even want to do that.

"Idunno," he mumbles. 

Harry squeezes George's hand gently. "It's okay. We can talk about it when we get home, or you don't have to talk about it at all, but... can I tell Louis, if you don't want to?"

George thinks if Louis doesn't want him with them anymore, once Harry tells him, that'd be -- it'd be fair for him to know, to have an idea of how fucked George is in the head. He nods.

Harry rubs George's wrist and slips the pad of his thumb beneath George's bracelet to stroke over the blue lines of George's veins. "Thank you, love."

"You're welcome," George whispers back. Harry's fingertips are really soft. He doesn't play guitar, George doesn't think, or at least not very often.

"That's true," Harry says, and _dammit_ , George needs to stop saying things from his head out loud. "I'm trying to learn but Niall's impatient."

"I could teach you," George offers softly. "I taught myself."

"I'd like that." Harry squeezes George's hand and wraps his other arm around George's waist in a backwards hug.

George smiles a little. There's something he can do, then, that might make them keep him around a little anyway.

"We should be off," Louis mumbles, checking the time on his phone. "Are we still -- Are you still coming with us?" he asks George. He looks uncertain, underneath his usual air of nonchalance. George doesn't like it when Louis looks uncertain.

So he nods. "Yeah, I'm coming. Harry said -- he said you bought me a King Kong onesie. Thank you."

"We had to, once we saw it." Louis smiles at him. "Reminded us of you a lot."

George smiles a little at that, and it's real, and makes his chest ache.

"I've had someone bring my car 'round so we won't have to wait on a cab." Harry is still hugging George, doing a sort of swingy dance with him.

"Okay," George says, and Harry seems to have noticed his own weird little dance because it's definitely deliberate now. It might be a cha-cha.

"You're so odd," Louis sighs, his voice fond like it always goes when he's telling Harry how weird he is. Or -- or George, actually. "Come on, I think mostly everyone else has left."

"Yay!" Harry cheers, and waggles George's arms around until George has no choice but to giggle. "We're free and clear!"

" _Silly_ ," Louis chides, though he doesn't sound chastising at all.

They don't run into anybody on the way out to the car park, which is good because Harry doesn't let go of George's hand until they're at his car, the big black Range Rover. Harry kisses George's head and opens his door for him, bundling him inside.

"Do you want me to sit with you, or Louis?" he asks.

George is pretty sure once Louis knows why George was upset, he's going to insist on sitting with him anyway. "I don't care," he says. "I like both of you."

Harry smiles at him encouragingly. "Why don't you get cozy, and I'll talk to Louis a moment and one of us will come give you a cuddle."

"I like cuddles." George smiles back and wraps his jacket more tightly around himself. It doesn't provide much in the way of coziness, but it's at least got long sleeves.

Harry shuts the door and then George is alone. He can see them talking, their faces tipped close together, but all he feels is embarrassed.

He hopes Louis doesn't shout at him. He doesn't think Louis shouts very often, but he can imagine it being terrifying, and George already feels humiliated enough.

Louis is smiling at him softly, though, when he opens the back door to the Rover and climbs in to sit beside George.

"Hi," George greets, automatically leaning to rest against Louis' side. He's wildly worried for a moment that Louis will push him away, but he wraps his arm around George's shoulder to pull him close while Harry starts the car.

"Hi, love," Louis whispers. "You were really wonderful tonight, singing. I got all choked up."

"You didn't," says George, tilting his head up to gauge the sincerity in Louis' face. "Did you?"

"I did," Louis insists. He bends down to nuzzle at George's ear. "It was lovely."

"Jaymi sounded amazing," George agrees. He's amazed every week by how effortless Jaymi makes singing the way he does look. "We did better than I was expecting."

"I think you don't give yourself enough credit," Louis murmurs. He unbuckles George's seatbelt so he can pull him halfway into his lap.

It's nice, to feel Louis so close. George pushes his nose against Louis' neck and breathes him in, closing his eyes.

"Mmm, I missed having you near me," Louis says. "Our Georgie. Mine."

"Yours," George agrees in a whisper. He is, and he knows it. No matter what happens, he is theirs. If that changes it's going to be because they want it to, not because of him. He knows that much.

Louis hums with satisfaction at that and noses at George's ear again. "Our gorgeous George. I hope you do teach Harry guitar; he'd love it."

"I don't like that name." George sighs, one of his arms curling up around Louis' neck. He's comfortable.

"I'm not using it as a name, I'm just describing you," Louis says. "You are gorgeous. And you're George."

"I'm _not_ ," George insists. He's starting to feel itchy again. "I'm just thinner."

Louis' face falls a little. "You are that. But you're gorgeous, too, you're lovely, George. Look," Louis says, and holds up George's hand, their fingers laced together. "You have really beautiful hands. Just like Harry does, all long fingers and that. And you're good with your hands, too, aren't you? You look good playing guitar. And you look good with your hands on yourself. I love that."

George stares at his hands. He's always had hands, obviously, but his fingers used to be all squidgy and they'd get sweaty really easy. They're nicer now. He can see his knuckles. When he did his first Twitcam, someone asked for him to show his hands. He still doesn't really understand what they wanted that for.

Louis kisses his fingers, and the back of his hand, and then he turns his hand over to kiss his palm. "You're so lovely, George," he whispers.

George can't think of a word to say that wouldn't be arguing against Louis, and he doesn't want to do that. He doesn't want Louis to be upset with him, even if Louis _is_ completely wrong.

"I'd like to kiss you a bit more," Louis says to him, tipping George's chin up with the knuckle of a finger. "But only if you want me to."

George likes being kissed. He can do that, too, he can kiss Louis. At least they'll get something out of bringing him home, then.

When he makes an agreeable noise, Louis gives him a kiss, more of a peck than anything else. "Tell me with your words," he instructs gently.

"You can kiss me," George says. "You can always kiss me."

"No," replies Louis. "Not always. Not when you don't want to be kissed, okay?"

George shrugs a little and blinks his eyelashes. "I always like to be kissed."

Louis smiles a little at that. "I've noticed that. I always like kissing you, so it's a good match, isn't it?"

George smiles a little at that, because he _wants_ to be a good match for Louis and Harry. He wants to fill up the spaces between them and smooth out their edges and just... fit.

"There's what I like to see," Louis whispers. "I love your smile. You've got such a gorgeous smile."

George ducks his head, and Louis tilts it back up. 

"No, no, you do. I like your little vampire teeth."

"You do?" George asks before he can help it. He likes when Louis tells him he looks good, but he doesn't want to like it.

"I do," Louis says, then gives George a tickle. "Even though it makes your bites hurt more."

George hums happily. He does love being tickled. "Maybe you just need thicker skin," he mutters.

"Maybe," Louis says, and George wonders if maybe they're speaking in two different meanings because he follows it with, "I think we all do, a bit."

"I like it when you bite me," George replies, frowning. "I can still feel the one from earlier."

Louis smiles. "I know you like it. That's why I do it. Our marks look pretty on you."

Apparently he's keeping on this. George thinks the marks look pretty too, is the thing. He likes the way they stand out on his skin and the way they go from purple-blue to purple-gold as they fade.

"Marks look pretty on everyone," George says, then thinks and frowns. "As long as they're good marks, that they wanted. Like lovebites."

"I think they look best on people you really like," Louis offers. "I give Liam lovebites all the time, but it doesn't give me a hard-on like it does when I see the ones I've made on you."

"And that's good," Harry calls from the driver's seat. "Or else the bed would get awfully crowded."

"And sweaty," Louis agrees.

"Harry's got a really big bed." George smiles at Louis. "I don't know, I think we'd all fit."

"Well, too bad," Louis says. "Liam does not get to see you naked, as long as I have anything to say about it."

That shouldn't make George's smile widen, but it does anyway. "I don't think I want to see Liam naked, either. I'm not Ella." His eyes widen. "You can't tell him I said that!"

He thinks a little further. "Or her. Don't tell her, either. I like having balls."

"I like them, too," Louis says with a little grin on his face. "I'd kiss them better if she did anything mean to them."

George startles a little shrieky laugh at that. "Erm, thank you?"

"You're very welcome." Louis kisses George's lips again, and he's grinning for real now. "I won't tell Ella a thing. Or Liam. This'll just be between us."

That reminds George -- "Caroline knows about us. She said Nick told her all about -- me, what I am. Your... you know."

"Submissive," Louis supplies gently. "I wish you'd get comfortable just saying the words."

George shrugs a little. "It makes me sound like... like less than a person," he says under his breath. "Or like I'm your pet."

Louis' brow gathers. "Well... it isn't. I mean, I guess if it's like, pets are taken care of, and so are you. And pets are loved, and like -- you know how we feel about you, and all. Then. But it's not the same. You know it isn't."

"Ella thought it was the same." George clears his throat. "Because of the, I told her about the collar. I hope that was alright?" He checks Louis' face before he continues. "I said it wasn't like that, it's just like a reminder for when you're not here, so I know I'm still yours."

Louis' face softens. "That is what it's for, George. And to remind you, like... to take care of yourself the way I would. The way we would, Harry and me."

"Oh," George whispers, looking down at his wrist. He can't see the bracelet, beneath his sleeve, but he knows it's there. "I can't really... do that to myself, though, like, put myself under? Can I?"

"No, and I wouldn't recommend trying that," Louis says, "But you can do things for yourself that we do for you. Like... things that make you happy, you know? And healthy. We just want you to be the best you."

George's lips twitch. "I can buy myself a King Kong onesie?"

"If you need a second one, yeah," Louis laughs. "Or you can get a Fay Ray dress. I think you rather have the legs for it."

"I have chicken legs." George leans up to kiss the corner of Louis' mouth. "They're really skinny and pale."

"I like your legs," Louis argues. "I think your ankles are nice. If we lived in Victorian times, you could be a pornstar. Well, you probably could now, too, but it'd be less ankley."

George has to laugh, tucking his head into Louis' shoulder as he does. "Probably less ankley," he agrees. "And you called Harry weird."

"He is weird," Louis says. "He just doesn't have the healthy appreciation for ankles that I do."

"More of a cheekbone man m'self," Harry volunteers from the driver seat. "You've got good cheekbones, too. You've got good everything."

George just shakes his head. It's -- this is like the song, just. Empty compliments.

"You have, though." Louis kisses George's cheek, and then his neck. "Not just like, your face, even if you've got a good face as well. You've got a good sense of humor and you're smart and you fit with us."

George looks down. "How -- I don't -- but you're, like..." he trails off and winces a bit as he whispers, "But you're like, perfect together."

Louis tilts George's head up again. He really wishes people would just let him look at his lap. "We're perfect with you," Louis says to him. "You make us better."

George chews on the inside of his cheek. "I've watched videos of you on YouTube. Like, how you are together. You're obvious to everyone with eyes, like. I'm just the -- I don't know." George shakes his head and shrugs. "You're both beautiful and talented and like, I'm just George."

"But you're beautiful and talented," Louis says. "You're not just George, you're gorgeous and you're so _good_ and you're ours. It's not just us anymore. It's me and Harry _and you_."

George's eyes prickle a bit at that because he _wants_ to believe it. But nineteen years make him ask, "But what about when you're gone? Not just for a week, or, but... almost a whole year?"

Louis cups the side of George's face, his thumb stroking over George's cheek. "You're not going to stop being ours until you don't want to be ours anymore," he says quietly, his eyes on George's. "It doesn't matter where we are. It doesn't matter where you are. You're still ours."

Louis gives George a smile at that, but George can see the nerves behind Louis' blue eyes -- like he's afraid that _George_ isn't going to accept that, that _George_ is going to reject _them_.

He couldn't. George honestly doesn't think he could ever reject them. How can Louis think he would? Even as a possibility?

"Thank you," he says when he can speak. Somehow Louis' figured out what it is he needs to hear, what he needs to feel. "I -- Thank you."

"Whenever you need a reminder, just ask," Louis says. He leans in and kisses George's forehead, then temple, then the thin skin beneath his eye. "I always want to tell you why we want you, anyway."

George remembers how, earlier, in the cupboard, Louis had said that he likes taking care of people. He needs to worry over them, and make sure they're happy. Maybe this is part of that. "I will. Ask," he clarifies, tipping his head closer to Louis to better receive his kisses.

Louis kisses the corner of George's mouth. "You always want so much to please people. It's nice, but you should let people please you, too."

"You please me a lot," George points out. He smiles and chases Louis' lips to kiss him again.

"But you always forget," Louis says. "What can we do that you won't forget?"

"This helps." George waves his wrist a little. "I just -- sometimes it's hard, when you're both not there. It's hard to remember."

"Try to remind yourself, then, like, when you look in the mirror, remember what we think of you and why you have that collar."

"Because I'm yours and you like taking care of me?" George asks. He squeezes Louis' hand with both of his.

"Well, yes, but I more meant that you should remember how good you are and how gorgeous and how much we like you."

George lets out a slow whoosh of breath. "You like me a lot," he whispers. "You think of me even when I'm not there?"

"We do," Louis says. "And not just in sex ways, although those are nice, too."

"They are nice," George agrees. "Can I have another kiss? I like it when you kiss me."

Louis hums and adjusts George in his lap so that their thighs are straddled over each other before he leans in and kisses George's mouth again.

He's not as aggressive as he was in the cupboard, but that's okay because this way George can cuddle as close as he likes and if he wanted he could grind down against Louis, and he can wrap his arms around Louis' neck.

Louis hands slide under George's jumper and t-shirt and run up the length of George's back to rub lightly at the flat of his shoulder blades. He nips at George's lower lip. "You have the softest mouth, George."

He has a lot of mouth; it's one of the things that makes people think of Harry. Louis' hands feel good on his skin, cool when he's burning up, overwarm in all his clothes.

The car shushes quietly as Harry turns it into the drive of his massive house, and then they've stopped and George has to stop kissing Louis, too, so they can get out of the car.

He doesn't like not-kissing Louis, and he grumbles when he has to separate from him. Louis laughs at him quietly and kisses George's head before he gently coaxes him from the vehicle.

Harry collects George into his arms as soon as he has both feet out of the car. 

"Are you feeling better?"

"Loads," George confirms, nodding against Harry's neck. He doesn't feel like crying anymore, for one thing, and his head feels less achey, and he wants to keep talking to Harry and Louis. He remembers he didn't, before, and wonders how he could ever feel like being away from them when they're so good at making him feel nice.

Harry beams at that. "Good!"

And he throws George over his shoulder to carry him into the house.

George flails a little but Harry doesn't drop him, and from this position George can see Louis following, laughing at them. He can't stop his own laughter while the blood rushes to his head.

"This is totally unfair!" he pants, clutching onto Harry's waist. "I'm not that much smaller than you!"

"You obviously are," Harry says. He doesn't even sound winded. "I like it, though. You're so little I don't even have to use both arms.” There's a pause. "Hey, Louis -- "

" _No_ ," Louis says, sounding exhausted. "There's no way you can carry us both at once and I don't want to spend the night in the A&E."

"You could let me try!" Harry sulks, turning around probably so that he can give Louis a pleading look. He's got a good pleading look. "Look at my muscles, I bet I can."

Louis smiles indulgently, but shakes his head. "Everyone knows I have better biceps than you. Yours are just more decorated."

"I'll beat you at arm-wrestling one of these days and then your arse'll be the only thing you can brag about." Harry blows Louis a kiss, or George thinks he does, anyway.

George writhes around a bit and tries to look up. "Are you going to put me down?"

"I like you there." Harry pats George's bum with his free hand. "I feel all manly and stuff, sweeping you off your feet."

"I'm manly," George protests. "I'm manly, too."

"Yes, you are." Harry shifts his weight and bends a little to set George back on his feet. "I sweep manly people off their feet all the time. I've swept Louis off his feet dozens of times."

"Yes, and he's only bashed my head into the wall 'dozen' times," Louis snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Your head got in the way of the wall," Harry says, and his tone has gone longsuffering but he winks at George. "It's not my fault you can't move your head fast enough."

"I am very good at moving my head," Louis says. He pauses. "I'm trying to figure out a good chickenhead joke, but it's not coming quickly enough."

"That's what she said," Harry and George say together.

" _No_ ," replies Louis before they finish speaking. "No, absolutely not."

Harry just throws his head back and laughs and gathers George close again, like he can't stand not to be touching him for the short time they'll have to be alone together. It's nice. It's... believable.

It's something George has wanted for a long time.

"Are you hungry at all?" Louis asks him. It doesn't sound like a pointed question, but it might be.

George shakes his head. "I'm honestly not."

"All you've had today is the toast from earlier?" Louis says, and he sandwiches George in on his other side, so he's surrounded by Harry and Louis and it's nice.

"Yeah, but -- I'm never hungry after I've been, erm, crying," George admits, blushing a little. "Makes me feel a little ill."

"That's okay," Louis accepts, leaning over to kiss George's temple. "Let us know if you do get hungry later, though. We've got leftover pizza, leftover Chinese, leftover carbonara. Leftover anything you want, really." He scratches his head. "Maybe we should get groceries."

"New food is for losers," Harry declares. "George, if you don't want to eat, what do you want to do?"

George shrugs, even though it's hard with Louis' arm over his shoulder. "I dunno. I liked -- before, I liked kissing, I like kissing a lot."

"Well, that's good," Harry says, and leans in to kiss George's cheek. "But like, more concretely. D'you want to put on your new onepiece and just talk for a bit, or do you want a bath, or do you want to watch a movie, or sleep...?"

" _Bath_ ," George groans, touching his hair to feel all the product in it. Before now he'd not really noticed but now that he has a chance to get it clean it feels like there's makeup and sweat and hair gel caked everywhere.

"Mmmm, okay," Louis says, and rubs over George's shoulders. He pauses. "D'you want us with you?"

"Yes, please," says George. He doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts right now. He wanted to be, earlier, but now that they're with him he doesn't want to let Harry and Louis go anywhere. "I've missed you."

Louis steps up on tiptoe and kisses George again. "We missed you, too."

George lets his eyes fall closed, and leans his forehead against Louis'. "I'm glad," he whispers.

Harry ruins the moment a little when he squeezes George's bum. "Up the stairs, then! Get!"

Louis actually _sticks his tongue out_ at Harry over George's shoulder. They're like children, he thinks, letting them shimmy him up the stairs. Mad, mad children.

Harry crowds up on George as soon as they're near the door and gets his hands under George's shirt to pet at his waist like he can't help it anymore.

It makes George laugh at first, because it sort of tickles, but then Harry kisses him and if George keeps laughing he won't be able to kiss back.

Harry slicks his tongue into George's mouth straight off, lifting George's shirt up enough that he can wrap his ridiculously big hands around George's hips.

"You look so good together," murmurs Louis, his hand settling on George's shoulder. George can practically feel his gaze, and it makes him _want_ to look good kissing Harry, so he puts his body into it, pressing his hips up against Harry's and his arms over Harry's shoulders.

There are two more hands pushing up the hem of George's jumper and t-shirt now, and he grumbles as he has to stop kissing Harry long enough to get them over his head.

Harry's mouth returns after his top is off, but not to George's lips. Instead he pushes his mouth against the mark Louis left earlier, his lips and tongue mapping out the bruise that's there now.

George exhales slow and shaky. "Yes, please."

He wants it to feel like both of theirs, started by Louis and finished by Harry and he can feel that it'll hurt whenever his shirt brushes it, and he wants that.

Teeth latch onto the edges of the bruise and then Harry's mouth is hot and insistent and his tongue soothes over the spot even as he darkens it.

"Yes," hisses George, tilting his head back. It feels perfect, throbbing and damp. He's getting hard in his jeans now, and he wonders if he _really_ needs that bath.

"That's amazing," Harry murmurs. His eyes are huge and dark when he looks back up at George. "You're amazing, George, really. I don't understand how you can't see how fit you are, but -- like, you _are_."

It's not worth arguing over, not when he could be kissing Harry instead. George has to fasten their mouths together and suck on Harry's bottom lip.

Harry's hands are still around George's waist, fingers stroking gently over his back, so it must be Louis undoing George's trousers and easing them down off his hips and over his thighs and knees.

George steps out of them carefully. If he trips up and falls over, he thinks he'll die of embarrassment, when they're looking at him like he's _sexy_ instead of cute and he's missed that when they were away.

Louis doesn't touch him again, though, once the trousers are off. Instead he just looks at George and at Harry touching George and smiles a little, his eyes a bit far away, before he turns to fill the giant bathtub.

Right, bath. Now that George remembers things other than Harry's mouth and hands, he feels sticky and gross again.

"Can I take your pants off?" Harry asks. "I know you don't want -- but I'll just help you out?"

"Can't wear pants in the bath anyway," says George. He nods, settling his hands on Harry's shoulders while Harry tucks his thumbs into George's boxers and pushes them down off his legs.

"You have nice skin," Harry says, and brushes his knuckles over George's hip. "Not in a way as creepy as that came out."

"Good, it sounded a bit -- murder-y." George smiles at him, staying still for Harry. "Not planning on cutting my skin off and using it as a onesie are you?"

Harry looks properly horrified at the suggestion. Not that George thought he'd been planning anything like that, but it's good to know Harry's not hiding any murderous intent.

"I just meant that you're really unfairly pretty," Harry says. "Jesus. Where is your head?"

"I watch a lot of sci-fi," defends George, frowning. "It's not my fault. Thank you," he adds when the first thing Harry said finally breaks through to his brain.

Harry smiles. "I do, too. Not as much as Zayn and Liam do, but enough. I used to love Lord of the Rings."

"I've got the boxset," George murmurs, touching Harry's chest. If any of them're unfairly pretty, it's definitely Harry.

"Take your shirt off, too, please."

Harry pulls his t-shirt over his head and there are -- there are _more_ new tattoos on him since George saw him last, and they're big ones this time, really noticeable.

"Birds?" he asks, and points at them without touching.

"You haven't seen them?" Harry looks really excited, and George can hear Louis groan from the other room. "Yeah, I really like them, aren't they cool?" He leans closer to George can take a better look if he wants.

"He'll go on for hours about those if you let him." Louis leans out of the doorway where George can hear running water.

"They're nice," George says, and means it for once. He likes when tattoos actually look like something, and most of Harry's are sort of. Scribbles. He can tell, though, that these aren't for Louis, because Louis isn't gushing over them.

"Bath's ready when you want," Louis offers, disappearing back into the bathroom.

"Ready to get clean?" Harry asks him, touching one of his bird tattoos and smiling to himself. He obviously likes them a lot, and George likes when Harry likes things.

George nods, then tilts his head and looks at the birds. "One of them is smaller."

"Yeah," says Harry with a nod. He doesn't say anything else. Maybe it's for a reason.

George narrows his eyes and doesn't let himself wonder whether it has anything to do with Harry liking that George is smaller than he is, can throw him over his shoulder.

Harry kisses George and smiles, stroking fingers down his chest. "Let's have a bath," he whispers.

George nods and lets Harry usher him over to the tub. Louis is still kneeling next to it, flicking the water absently.

Somehow, George is the only one who's naked. This isn't the first time it's happened, and it's still weird when it does. The water, when he feels it, is just a hair below too-warm, and he wonders with a curious look at Louis how he knew that's how George likes it.

"Harry told me," Louis says. "You like to be pink when you get out of the bath."

George's lips twist and he's pleased down to his guts that Harry remembered something so trivial about him.

He carefully steps over the side of the bath and lowers himself into the water, humming in happiness as he settles. He hadn't realized just how much his muscles ached until now.

Louis is smiling when George opens his eyes. "Is it good?"

"Yes," George sighs, leaning back against the side. He doesn't want to move ever again. He wants to stay here.

It seems like Louis is genuinely pleased to have done well, and George might -- he thinks he might understand a little better what Louis meant, that taking care of people is what makes Louis tick, and how George helps him as much as he helps George get what he needs.

"It's perfect, thank you," he says, leaning over to kiss Louis' cheek. He'd hug him if he weren't already wet.

Louis cups George's jaw in one hand and lightly rubs over his cheekbone with his thumb. "You are ridiculously good-looking."

George can feel himself blushing, _again_ , and hopes they'll just think it's the heat of the bath. "Kiss me," he requests, nudging his lips against Louis' hand.

"I want to look at you first."

"You can look at me while you kiss me." George smiles hopefully.

"Nah, we'd both go all cross-eyed." Louis winks, but then his face softens into something warm and enamored. "You have the most amazing cheekbones."

George sucks his lower lip into his mouth for a moment, to let himself have a moment to think of something to say. "You're turning into Harry," he finally jokes. "Going on about cheekbones."

Louis laughs at that, and there are the _crinkles in his eyes_. George doesn't feel quite as sour as before. "Next thing you know, Harry will want to kiss your ankles."

"I do want to kiss his ankles. I want to kiss all of him." Harry's voice is low and at the other end of the tub, but George can't look away from Louis.

"Me, too," Louis murmurs. "D'you want help washing your hair?"

A soft little sound escapes George before he can shove it back in. "Please?" he asks. He loves hands in his hair so much.

Louis smiles and bends forward to kiss George's forehead before it gets all wet.

The carefully crafted curls in George's hair are wilting now from the steam, and he's not sad to see them go. He doesn't like having it curly when he's around Harry, feels like he's faking playing at a popstar.

Harry doesn't seem to mind much, though, because he's carefully pouring hot water over George's curls with his cupped hands, working his fingers through to ease out the tangles of the curls.

George tips his head back so he doesn't end up spitting out water everywhere. It's hot against his scalp and he sighs happily, smiling to himself.

"It's nice to see you relaxed," Louis comments quietly. "You're always strung up."

"I get really stressed," George mumbles as Harry's fingers rub against his scalp. "The show, and everything..."

"I understand it." Louis runs his hands over George's shoulders and down to his arms, the bits still not underwater. "I just wish you could help yourself calm down a bit."

"This is helping," George admits. Harry's fingers don't pull his hair and he's warm and wet and with two of his favorite people. He doesn't know if he could be anything but calm.

"That's good." Louis pushes his thumb against the dark bruise on George's collarbone.

George breathes in sharply, and lets it out on a moan. It's like everything he likes all at once, and it's perfect.

"I love that," Louis murmurs. "It's one of my favorite sounds."

"It feels good." George licks his lips, blinking his eyes open so that he can look at Louis. "I like it when you touch me."

"I like touching you, so that works out well," Louis says. He keeps one hand on George's lovebite and presses two fingers against it, making it sting, even as his other hand gently lathers through George's hair to meet both of Harry's.

So many hands in his hair, and the throbbing from his lovebite feels just as good. George wants to drift, and let his mind go, but he doesn't know if he's allowed yet. Maybe they want him to stay up.

Louis leans in and kisses George's forehead again, right between his eyes. "Go ahead, love."

George lets go, his shoulders relaxing as his mind floats off into golden clouds. It's been so _long_ and it feels so _nice_ that he has to make a pleased noise, smiling and opening his eyes again.

"That's it," Louis whispers. "That's such a good look on you."

"I want more kisses," murmurs George, leaning his head back against Harry's hands. His head feels light and heavy all at once.

There's a pause, silence except the sound of the water as Harry starts rinsing through George's hair. 

"Harry, if you think you can," Louis hedges, "Go on."

The hands leave George's hair and that makes him momentarily upset before Harry's lips are pressing against his, soft and careful.

George moans and reaches up to clutch onto Harry's shirt. He's probably dripping water everywhere and it's not particularly kind to his shoulders, reaching behind him like that, but he doesn't _care_ , not when they're finally kissing him while he's floating like this and it's _so_ good.

It's so much more intense like this, as if Harry's kissing his lips but George can feel it through his whole body, like a thrumming happiness as Harry gently licks into George's mouth.

"That's what you really wanted, isn't it?" Louis murmurs softly. He runs his hands over George's chest, and it's smooth and soapy and they're taking care of him the best way they know how. George feels like his heart might beat right out of his bones and fall into Louis' hands.

"Jesus," Harry whispers into George's mouth, the words trapped between them like breath. "Jesus, Lou, he's perfect."

"Tell George," Louis says. "Don't tell me; I'm the one who agrees with you."

"You're perfect," Harry says to George without missing a beat, his eyes gone dark and wide like George imagines his own must be. "You're so perfect for us, you make us so happy."

Maybe it's being under. Maybe that makes him more -- suggestible, is the word Louis used once, but. George kind of believes him. They both look happy, anyway.

Harry kisses him again and George presses up into it, lets their tongues meet for a moment outside their mouths so that Louis can see it and then muffles his groan into Harry's lips.

After another minute, George's neck and shoulders start to hurt a little from craning them back, so he squirms a bit. He doesn't want to stop kissing, but he wants to move his arms.

Louis saves him the pain of having to make a decision by gently taking his hand away from Harry's collar and stretching George's arm out so he can wash it, smooth soap over the skin and rinse it away with a soft cloth.

"You have little muscles now," Louis murmurs, and sounds impressed. "You've been working hard. I like your arms, though, how they are. They're like, graceful or something."

"Noodle-arms," George mumbles, turning a little in the water so his neck doesn't hurt so much as he kisses Harry. "I have noodle-arms, you said."

"Noodle-arms are nice," Louis says. He kisses George's wet bicep and lowers his arm back into the water before leaning over to start on George's other arm.

"I like your arms," says Harry, kissing across George's cheek and down his neck. He nuzzles up behind George's ear where his hair is soaking wet and still vaguely soapy.

George makes a little displeased noise. "They're not as nice as your arms. Either of you."

"They will be, if you work as hard as you've been," Louis says quietly, and he strokes over the bump of George's bicep that George has privately been looking at in the mirror every so often. "And even if they won't, I still like them like this."

George smiles a little at that and feels his cheeks flush pink and hot, although that might be all the steam coming off the bathwater.

"Lean forward a bit, let me get your back," Louis urges, soaping up to George's shoulders and neck.

Harry helps George sit up a little and George moans gratefully as they both knead his shoulders and soap down his back.

"You've been under so much pressure, haven't you?" Louis mutters, feeling out the tense muscles in George's lower back. "When was the last time you really relaxed?"

"Last time I saw you," George says, because it's true. It's easier for him to say true things when his brain is all golden-white and loose and warm.

"Poor love," says Louis as he settles a hand on George's chest. "Lay back now," he coaxes.

George leans back again and smiles, because now he can see Harry quite clearly and that obviously means that kissing is an option.

Louis starts to wash George's chest as Harry leans down and kisses George again like he wants it just as badly as George does.

"Your heart is _racing_ ," Louis comments. "Are y'alright?"

Harry leans back to let George answer which is _not_ what George wants.

"I'm happy," George mutters, trying to catch Harry's lips again. "Does that, when I'm happy."

"I'm glad you're happy now," Louis mutters. "I'm sorry you weren't before."

"Doesn't matter," George insists, and whines until Harry leans down to kiss him again.

Louis washes down to George's hips and thighs and then hesitates. "Do you want to wash your cock, or can I do it?" he asks softly.

"You can," George says. He knows his eyes are huge when he blinks. "I told you, I want you. I've missed you."

Louis smiles at him. "We've missed you, too," he repeats, sliding a soapy hand over George's semi. "We've missed you so much."

George sighs and is distracted from kissing by the sight of Louis' hand on him.

It's hard to see when the water's got soap and bits of floating hair wax in it, but Louis' fingers draw up and down, and soon the head of George's cock is visible whenever Louis slips his hand up through the water.

Needing, George whimpers in small strangled sounds until Harry shushes him with another kiss and big hands sliding down over George's arms to squeeze his wrists comfortingly.

"Do you want us?" Louis asks him softly the next time Harry leans back. "Like I told you about before the show, in the cupboard? We won't be upset if you don't. We can still put on onesies and watch a film," he adds.

George blinks and tilts his head. "D'you still want me? Even though I got upset earlier?"

"Remember how I told you we're always going to want you? That hasn't changed." Louis tickles George's belly button. "We don't have to do anything you don't want. I'm not going to order you about on this one."

George shakes his head, then nods. "I want you. I want that, I want both of you. I missed you and I know I'm good at -- like, I want you."

Louis' gaze narrows in on him. "I won't have you doing this as some sort of -- trying to prove yourself, or whatever. Only if you really want to."

George really does shake his head at that, vigorously enough that water droplets splash around the room. "No, I want you. All the time."

"You didn't, earlier," Harry tells him. "Remember? And I told you that you didn't have to do anything if you didn't want to?"

George frowns. He does remember, and it makes the floating softness take on a dark tinge in his head, like storm clouds edging over. 

"Yeah, but -- you were lying then," George says hesitantly. "But you're not now. So that's okay. And I'm all, I want you."

"I wasn't lying." Harry looks sad. "I promise, I wasn't. I do want you all the time."

"Not -- that." George's face pinches and he shakes his head again, wanting suddenly to curl up and hide his body more than the water can. "Doesn't matter now."

"It does matter." Harry's expression goes even more sad. "I didn't mean to upset you again. I'm sorry."

"Not upset," George grumbles. "Just don't want to talk about it when I could suck you off instead. I'd rather do that. Makes me happy, and you said you want me to be happy."

Harry laughs a little, uncertainly, and looks back at Louis. He touches George's neck, though, and George likes the contact.

He keens into Harry's touch and looks up at him with earnest eyes. "I'm really happy now. And I want you. Both, like Louis said."

"I trust you to know what you can handle." Harry kisses George's head. "Let's get you all dried off."

George grins at that and his nose wrinkles. "Yay." He winces. "Sorry. Just came out."

"You're cute," Harry informs him as he tugs the plug out of the drain. He grabs George underneath his armpits and tugs until he's standing, dripping and shivering in the now tepid water.

Harry and Louis throw towels around George and rub him briskly until his hair is fluffy and he feels a little windblown.

"There you go, perfectly perfect." Louis rubs his thumb over the lovebite on George's collarbone. He already knows it's the only obvious one, all the others faded since the last time he's seen Louis and Harry.

"I want more lovebites," George requests. "Please?"

"We'll give you some more in a little while," Louis tells him, pulling George in to cup his face and look into his eyes. "I still want to look at you for a bit."

George's brow gathers a little, but Harry is holding both of his hands and he can't hide. And anyway, Louis has seen all of him.

Louis pets down George's chest, touching each of his ribs and then sliding his hand to George's hip and fitting his hand around the curve of it that's just barely there. "So little," Louis murmurs, his thumb stroking across a freckle on George's hipbone. "I like holding you." He digs his thumbnail in just enough for George to feel it. "But I don't want you any smaller."

George knows what Louis isn't saying, so he just swallows and nods. He doesn't know if he _can_ get any skinnier, and the U.K. seems to like him this size. He hopes. He guesses they'll see tomorrow.

Louis gives him a smile, though, and nuzzles their noses together. "I don't want to feel like you'll break in half if we're rough with you. Especially since you like that so much, when we're rough with you."

"I do like that." George smiles back, leaning in to nuzzle him back. "I won't break. I like when you -- when you make me feel it for a while."

"Good," Louis murmurs. "We can do that, can't we, Harry?"

"Of course we can." Harry presses up against George's back, long and warm. "Whatever you want, George."

George leans back against Harry. "I don't want to make choices. I don't like that; I like when Louis decides."

"You know you have to decide you want Louis to decide, first." Harry slides his hands around to stroke George's tummy. "He's not just going to go 'round doing things to you without your consent first."

"Well," George says. He has the strangest urge to stomp his foot, because this is _frustrating_ and it's not easy like it was the first time or the second or even the third. It's supposed to be easy now that he's wearing their collar. "I give it. I want whatever you to do to me. Or with me. Whatever."

Louis doesn't look chastised at all, like he _should_. He just looks amused and endeared. That's not bad, though. It reminds George of the way he looks at Harry.

"Alright, love, calm yourself," Louis tells him, lifting George's hand to kiss his palm. "We'll remember that. And you'll remember that if I do anything you don't like, it's red."

"I know, I know," George says. "Or if it hurts a lot. Even though I like that, sometimes."

"Right, you do." Louis looks over George's shoulder to Harry and then jerks his head toward the door. "Shall we commandeer your bed for the night, love?"

"Unless you're a fan of rugburn on your knees," Harry says, and George laughs a little at that.

They toddle off to Harry's room but none of them really seem to want to let go, so there's a lot of banging into doorways and bursting into laughter before they can drop onto the softness of Harry's mattress.

George flops onto his back and spreads his arms and legs. He looks up at Harry and Louis, who are still fully clothed save Harry's shirt, and pouts.

"Clothes off?" he requests, giving them one of his better smiles, the ones he usually saves for the voting public or getting his mum to get him video games. Oh, he doesn't want to think about his mum right now. "Please?"

Louis gives him a wicked little smirk. "What if I said no? We were keeping our clothes on and just getting our cocks out enough to fuck you, but you couldn't see or touch us at all? What color would that be?"

George shudders a little. He thinks he'd feel too exposed, naked while they weren't. Like when he'd get dressed in P.E. and he could hear the other boys laughing at him behind his back. "No touching?" he asks uncertainly, worrying his lip slightly. "At all?"

"Nope," Louis says. "I would hold your arms down like you like."

He relaxes. If they were touching him, even just to hold him down, he thinks it'll be okay. "Green," he decides. "Greeny-yellow," he amends, even though he doesn't think that's a thing.

"Greeny-yellow," Louis repeats. He pulls his jumper over his head. "You're so shy, George, even when you're shameless all spread out on the bed. I wish you weren't, because I like looking at you and I want to show you off. Even if it's just to Harry."

"You can look at me." George stretches his arms up over his head, putting himself as on display as he can. "I just, I like touching. Don't you like touching me?"

"I do," Louis agrees. He undoes the button on his trousers and steps out of them. "I'd get to touch you."

"Then it's green." George likes seeing Louis' skin, all golden from the sun. Being in Los Angeles probably helped a bit there. Louis does look a little more tan than he was a week ago.

"Well, it's too late now, for today, I've got my kit off," Louis says. "But I'll remember that for another time. Maybe tomorrow."

"I'd like that sometime," George whispers. "I like it when you hold me down. It feels good."

Louis smiles and reaches out to playfully hold George's ankle down to the bed, wearing only his pants. He isn't hard yet, and George wants him to be.

"You wanted me to blow you, right?" he asks, sitting up on his elbows a little and giving Louis the closest thing he has to a sultry look. He can't imagine he's very good at it, not when his face is normally all eyes and cheeks.

Louis nods. "But I want to wait until you and Harry have started, in case you're not alright."

"I _am_ alright," George grumbles. He wants to be sucking on something. He nods, though, holding his hand out to Harry.

Harry shucks out of his own clothes, pants included, and crawls onto the bed, right between George's legs.

He's never going to get used to Harry's body, or the way it feels when he's on top of George. He's got such lovely shoulders and his chest muscles and his abs and his hips, and George wants to lick all of him.

Harry smiles. "I think I'll lick all of you, instead, if it's all the same to you, love."

"I keep doing that," mumbles George, leaning up to kiss Harry's mouth. He doesn't feel floaty anymore, and he misses it.

Harry scratches his fingers into George's hair and gives it a good ruffle beneath George's ears as he legs his weight settle down onto George, sharp hips cradled in George's open thighs.

"I missed your cock," George sighs. "And the rest of you. But I really missed your cock, and your fingers, and you."

"I missed you," Harry agrees. "And your cock, and your bum, and the rest of you."

"Fuck me, please?" George asks, squirming a little. He's missed being filled just right. His fingers don't fuck himself like Harry's do.

"Impatient," Harry laughs softly, and his eyes are fond and bright as he bends down to kiss the corner of George's mouth.

George can't lie and say he hasn't missed being kissed while he's being fucked. He spreads his legs more and grinds up against Harry as well as he can, planting his feet on the bed.

Harry rumbles low in his chest. "You want it so much, don't you?"

"Yes," George says honestly. "It's been too long. I can't do it right, myself."

Harry reaches out to the side and Louis puts a packet of lube in Harry's hand. "No, it's not the same, is it?" Harry's voice is very quiet.

"It's not." George shakes his head. "It's not the same at all. And I want your fingers."

"Okay," Harry soothes. He slicks up his fingers and reaches down between George's legs.

George moans at the first touch of slick fingers to his hole. He had known he missed this, but he didn't know how much until right now.

Harry kisses the inside of George's knee as his fingertip pushes inward.

" _Yes_ ," George moans, his body welcoming the intrusion. His toes tuck into the duvet and he flings a hand out to grab one of Louis'.

"Shhh, you're okay," Harry murmurs, and kisses down the ticklish inner stripe of George's thigh.

It makes George laugh a little. He squeezes Louis' hand, his mouth falling open as Harry slowly works a finger inside him.

Harry keeps kissing his way down George's thigh and over the little curve of his bum, and then Harry's licking in alongside his finger, keeping George slicked up and guessing.

George remembers, in a flash, what Louis said about Harry licking the come out of him, that he likes it. He thinks Harry would be good at it, if his current unbridled enthusiasm is any indication.

He whimpers and squeezes Louis' hand as Harry tucks a second finger into George without warning, just the sloppy soothe of his tongue easing over the stretch that feels pink and a little raw.

It's so _good_ after more than a week of not-enough and nowhere near too-much. Harry's fingers are longer than his own and he's not holding back with them, sliding them in all the way and curling them a little before he slips them out just enough to get his tongue between them.

George digs his heels into the mattress and rides down against Harry's face a little. It's so easy to just keep wanting _more_ with Harry and Louis, like no matter how much they give him, it isn't enough, and he almost wants right now what he asked Louis for -- both of them at once, both of them inside him, _literally_ giving him everything until he really can't possibly get _more_.

Harry gets a third finger into him like he can tell just from George's whines what he needs. He feels wet now and _open_ , and it's what he's been needing for ages since they left. Harry's tongue is still licking at him and it's just so good that George can't imagine what Harry's cock's going to feel like after this long.

Louis' hand sweeps over George's chest, and the weight of it, slight as it is, is calming. "You're okay, George. Just breathe, please."

George hadn't realized he wasn't, but he gasps and his vision swims a little. "I need it," he whispers, panting now. "I need it. Please."

"Okay," Louis promises. "Harry, give it to him."

Harry licks his lips as he leans back, his eyes dark and his mouth looks _used_. "Yeah," he murmurs, using what's left of the lube to slick up his cock, which looks almost as hard as George's.

But that means that he isn't touching George right now, and George doesn't like that at all. He tries to wrap his legs around Harry and pull him closer again, but Harry is immovable.

"Patience, babe," Louis says, his hand sliding down George's stomach to touch the wet, sticky spot he's made there.

George shakes his head and writhes back against the pillows. "Been too long."

Louis curls his fingers around George's thigh and pulls it back, spreading him open as Harry leans back over George, his fringe in his eyes and the head of his cock at George's hole.

"Yes, yes," George whispers, nodding frantically. "Please, yes, yes, _please_."

Harry rolls his hips smoothly, and he's got the angle _perfect_ or something because all of him just fucks into George all at once.

And that's all it takes. It's like the blinds are opened or the curtains are drawn or the doors are swung shut and George is down _hard_.

"Oh, wow," breathes Harry, his chest heaving a little. "Look at you, you're so gorgeous."

Yes, and George knows he is right now, because Harry's fucking him, and that's good. That's good and it makes George be good.

Harry stays inside for a long moment and then moves, his thrusts long and smooth and he's fucking George with his whole body, and Louis is holding his leg so tightly in place for Harry.

George turns his head because Louis is there, and he licks his lower lip into his mouth with big, round, shining eyes because Louis said, Louis said that George could suck him while Harry was fucking him and Harry's fucking him, but Louis' cock isn't in George's mouth and that should change. Right away.

"Please can I suck you?" he asks, one hand pawing at Louis' chest, the other curled in the blanket. "Please, I want it so much, I need your cock, I need to suck it, please?"

Louis looks a little torn, so George slides his hand up over Louis' chest, petting over it once, to cup the back of Louis' neck. "Please? I'm so happy now, I'm not sad, I just -- I need more, pleaseplease?"

"Okay, alright, since you've asked so nicely," Louis says, smiling at him and sliding closer. "Do you remember how you sucked Harry last time, while he was sitting above your face? I need you to do that again now."

"Yes." George likes that, wants that a lot. Louis' weight will hold him down and Harry can grip his hips and George won't be able to move _at all_. He'll just have to take them.

Louis' smile widens and he swings a leg over George's chest. Harry is still moving in short, jerky thrusts, shallow and not enough but George understands why. Louis knees up a little and positions his cock against George's lower lip. "Don't do anything yet," he whispers. "Just feel."

They aren't holding his arms down at all. George frowns and sort of flops them sadly.

"You can't talk with a cock in your mouth," Louis murmurs. "So if it's yellow or red, I want you to pinch me or Harry, okay?"

Well, George can see the point of that. He still wishes they could hold him down. Maybe if there was another person there, but George doesn't want another person. He just wants this, Harry and Louis and him and being filled like this.

He nods and opens his mouth, trying to catch the slit of Louis' cock with his tongue. There's a white bead of precome on it that he _wants_ , and between that and the angle that Harry's pushing into him, he can't focus on anything else.

"Just your tongue, don't use your lips yet," Louis instructs him in a mutter, his eyes intent on George's mouth.

George immediately laps at what he can reach of Louis' dick, which isn't much, since Louis won't give him a good angle and Harry's weight is too much for him to be able to sit up at all and change the reach himself.

"Yeah, that's good, George, perfect, like that." Louis moves forward just an inch, lifting his hips and then settling down again higher on George's chest.

George hums gratefully and licks around the ridge, his eyes fluttering shut as Harry's thrusts get deeper again, fucking into him earnestly. George reaches to put his hands around Louis' hips just to have something to anchor him, and one of Harry's hands is there, too, using Louis for leverage.

"Lips now, go on, use your mouth, make me feel good," Louis murmurs. He's gripping the headboard hard, and the fingers of his other hand stroke down George's cheek.

George can do that. He can definitely do that.

He wraps his lips around the head of Louis' cock and sucks hard, craning his neck to take in even more. Louis is rocking his hips in tiny increments, not enough to choke George but enough to remind George that Louis' in control, that he _could_ choke George if he wanted to.

He kind of wishes Louis would. He squeezes Harry's fingers where they're twined on Louis' hip and Harry growls a little, thrusting harder.

George moans and Louis curses under his breath, his hand tucking into George's hair and holding him where he is. "I want to fuck your mouth," he tells George softly. "Not too hard; you've got the group song tomorrow. But I want to fuck your mouth. Pinch me if you don't want me to."

George strokes his knuckles along Louis' side instead, inviting.

"Good boy," Louis smiles, his hand staying where it is as he begins to move his hips faster and his cock slides deeper into George's mouth than it had been, just barely touching the back of his throat on the deepest thrusts.

George groans again gratefully and he feels Louis shiver.

"Such a good boy for us, letting us use you like this," Louis tells him. "You've been so good today. You've done everything so well."

George wants to nod, and can't; Harry thrusts at just the right angle to take George's breath away, so he can't, he can't, he can't; his eyes well up with tears and they spill into his eyelashes and it's _so good_ that he just _can't_.

"God, you're gorgeous when you're like this." Louis stretches his torso out and reaches behind him to wrap a hand around George's cock. He doesn't even lose his rhythm, which makes George think that he's probably done this before, to Harry, fucked Harry's mouth and got him off at the same time. He's like superhuman.

It's too much.

It's too much.

It's too much, and George feels the tightening hot heat in his belly and he whimpers around Louis' cock and clenches tight around Harry's and his fingernails claw at Louis' belly in a stripy pink scratch and then he's coming, spurting through Louis' fingers and it seems to crest two-three-a light fourth time before it stops.

Louis doesn't stop touching him through it, keeps his hand on George and strokes him, using his own come as slick to ease the way and it's _so_ much when his mouth is still around Louis' cock.

Harry's still fucking into him hard and fast, too, every-other deep hit pushing at all the best places and all the right angles and it makes George feel like he needs to come again even though there's no way, there's no way they can fuck him right into a second orgasm. That's not even how humans work.

"Harry's gonna come inside you," Louis says to him with a voice gone gruff and low. "And then he's gonna move so I can fuck you, and then he'll lick it out of you while I watch. I want to see it."  
George whimpers and sucks more of Louis into his mouth to show that he's understood.

"Good boy." Louis takes his hand back and licks his palm. "Harry. Come," he instructs. "I want to hear you."

Harry's thrusts go hard enough to rattle the bed, five, eight, nine of them, hard enough that George chokes a little on the cry that wants to come out of his throat and can't make it.

And then there's warm wet inside him, familiar but _missed_ and George can hear the noise Harry makes, a long, drawn out groan that's probably for Louis' benefit.

Harry pulls out of George before there's any time to relax and adjust, and he kisses George's belly, licking and nuzzling at the smear of come across his navel.

"You'll get more in a bit, babe, just you wait," Louis says to Harry as he slips out of George's mouth and back off of his chest. He takes Harry's place in a series of movements as smooth as breathing, and pushes in without any further commentary.

George does cry out, this time, because Louis doesn't have any lube and even though George is open and slick, that's still a shock -- just something he hasn't felt before, at least not in years since he started getting fucked by people who knew what they were doing.

"Color," Louis grunts, his arms straining as he holds himself over George. "Give me your color."

"G-green," George stutters. He clasps onto Harry with both hands.

Harry kisses George's head, and his cheeks, and his nose and then his mouth as Louis begins to move, slow, shallow thrusts that lengthen only once George doesn't tense or otherwise show distress.

"Look at you, George," Harry murmurs. "You're so perfect, you're so good."

"You feel amazing," Louis tells him. He drives in at a different angle from Harry, and it's nothing like how Harry was fucking him except it still feels good, and George can feel himself getting hard again.

He noses at Harry's neck and murmurs _n-n-n_ until Harry understands and gives George two fingers to suck on, holding onto Harry's big palm like it's a security blanket and slurping down on the fingers while watching Louis with huge eyes.

Louis is all sleek movements where Harry was strong force and they're too different for George to even begin to compare them. His mouth falls open around Harry's fingers as Louis shoves particularly deep and then stays there, his eyes on George's darker blue and taking him in. He makes a quiet sort of _oh_ sound when he comes and adds to the mess of wet and warmth inside of George.

George is hard again now, not as urgently as he was before, and he's not sure that he even can come again, but he wants a hand or a mouth on his prick, just something to feel and to take some of the pressure away.

"Let him feel your mouth, Harry," Louis says, and he doesn't take his eyes off George even as he pulls out to lay beside him.

Harry smiles at George and kisses the side of his face, gently urging his fingers out of George's mouth.

He trails them wet with spit down George's chest, tweaking one of his nipples as he slinks down the bed. George's legs are already spread but Harry's giant hands spread them wider, and he licks his lips.

"You're gonna like this," Louis tells him, kissing George's shoulder just as Harry's tongue presses into the hot looseness of George's hole.

George almost arches off the bed.

Louis is laughing a little, he thinks, soft and low but George could be imagining it as Harry's _tongue_ is so distracting. It's so much _more_ than it was when Harry's done this to him ever before. George wants to push down against his face but he can't do anything except moan _ohgodohgodohgodohgod_ and try to remember how to breathe.

Louis' hands are back, holding George's arms tightly, and that helps. He can breathe, at least, like this. Can't think, but. Can breathe.

Harry keeps making pleased sounds, like it makes him _happy_ to curl his tongue inside where George is most sensitive and use his thumbs to spread George open a little more and lick their come out of him, like Harry can't get enough of it.

George keeps riding down on Harry's face, and he was wrong before, he was so wrong, he can come again, he _has_ to come again, he needs to come _now_ or he might die.

"Good boy," Louis whispers in his ear, just as Harry reaches up and strokes George's cock once, and another half a stroke before George is crying out and coming again and Harry's tongue is _still inside him the whole time Harry's fucking him with his tongue_.

It's too much, after the last shivershuddering great aftershock. It's too much, and George is almost scared by how fast his heart is beating, sticky black inking in on the sides of his eyes because he can't quite catch his breath.

"Harry, Harry _stop_ ," he hears Louis say, but it's like he's hearing it while he's underwater, all muffled and George is floating, floating, floating even farther away.

There's something he's supposed to say, he remembers vaguely. It's a nice word, it's -- round, like. Simple.

"Yellow?" he guesses, and then he really needs to close his eyes for a minute. Maybe two. That's all.

Except when he opens his eyes again, Harry has a glass of water and Louis is drinking from a cup of tea and George swears he would've known if either of them left the room.

"Hey, you." Harry sounds sheepish, and his fingers are soft as they comb through George's fringe. "You keep doing that to us. It's really scary."

"Sorry." George's voice is barely there, and he clears his throat. "Sorry. I don't mean to." It still feels like he's talking through molasses, but he gets the words out.

"I know you don't," Harry says, and keeps petting at George's hair. It feels nice, and George smiles. "There's just like, maybe we're not letting your brain have enough blood or something."

"Prob'ly," George yawns. "'S all going somewhere else."

Louis laughs. "We should probably save some for your brain. It can't be healthy, you fainting every time."

"Don't call it fainting," George groans. "Can't it just be like, talking a really short nap?"

"No," Louis says, and makes a face. Then he frowns. "In all seriousness, Georgie, like... if you feel like you're gonna pass out, that's red. That's not yellow."

"It's always really sudden." George presses his face against Louis' thigh. "Or I would. It's just really, really good and then black and then I wake up."

Louis combs his fingers through George's hair now, instead of Harry. "Okay. I'll keep a better eye on you, then."

George hums, and nuzzles into the crease of Louis' hip. He feels... good. 'Great' might even be the word.

"I missed you," he murmurs again. It's still true.

"And we missed you," Harry says from behind him. He already sounds half asleep. "D'you want some water?"

George shakes his head. "Wanna get cuddly and watch a film. You said we could."

"You're right, we can," Louis agrees, reaching over George to shove at Harry's shoulder. "Would you like some pizza, as well? Replenish your energy?"

George thinks about this for a long minute. Harry's hands are rested on George's stomach, petting at his skin (and, it occurs to George, through the insane mess of come on George's belly; it really is a _thing_ for Harry).

"Yes," he decides, very quietly. He's hungry, and if he's hungry, Louis wants him to eat. "Is that alright?"

Harry nestles down and kisses George's lips very softly. "Yes. That's really good."

George smiles, a fluttery feeling welling up in his chest. He doesn't know what to call it, so he yawns instead.

"Come on, I'll heat up the pizza while you and Harry get the film ready." Louis looks almost proud of him, but he drops the expression when he can see George is looking at him. "Let me know if there's anything else you want?"

Harry lifts George's left hand and kisses over the bracelet that's left a round row of little bruises around George's wrist from the weight of George's body resting on it. 

George shakes his head. "No. This is everything I want."

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